Great Expectations
by Cassandra's Cross
Summary: A weekend trip to the mysterious Rose Cottage leads to Ginny’s 2nd pregnancy & Hermione’s 1st. Ron & Hermione join Harry & Ginny on 'The Next Great Adventure' as they await the births of Albus Potter & Rose Weasley. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Wistful Looks

**Great Expectations**

**Author's Note: **Due to my obsessive need to keep all my stories in agreement, all characters and situations in this story are in compliance with _The Letter_ and _To Hear the Bells Ring_, although in light of Jo Rowling's recent revelations, many of these are now SU (for an explanation of SU fiction, see Chapter 3). And now, for your reading pleasure, here is _Great Expectations_.

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**Chapter One**

_Wistful Looks_

Ginny was half-way through her list of child-care instructions when her mother stopped her.

"Ginny, dear, I raised seven children from infancy to adulthood," Molly reminded her. "I can surely cope with one seven-month-old baby for a few days."

"Oh, Mum," Ginny sighed. "Maybe this isn't the best time for me to leave James. I just started him on this new formula and I really don't think it agrees with him. I probably shouldn't have stopped nursing so soon. . ."

"What choice did you have after going back to work?" Molly asked. "James is perfectly healthy, Ginny, and you and Harry deserve a chance to get away. So do Ron and Hermione for that matter. It's so nice the four of you are taking this little holiday. The Lake District is lovely this time of year, and if you ask me a little fresh air would do you a world of good. You look a bit peaky."

"Nobody's been 'peaky' since 1953," said Ginny sourly. "Mum, I just don't know. . ."

"You listen to me, young lady," said Molly before her daughter could build up a full head of steam. "There is nothing wrong with taking a little time for yourself and your husband. You're not just a mother, Ginny, you're also a wife. I don't know if you realize it, dear, but lately Harry's been looking . . . wistful."

Ginny's brows shot upward. "He's been looking . . . _what_?"

"All I'm saying is that marriages need nurturing every bit as much as children do. Your marriage is the backbone of your family, and it requires time, attention, and care to keep it healthy. Why do you think your father and I have lasted as long as we have? It's because we nurture one another and always have, even when our children were young. Don't you remember those weekends we used to leave you at Auntie Muriel's?"

"Dumped us there, more like," said Ginny. "It was awful. She . . . Hang on. Are you telling me that you and Dad . . . Urgh! Mum!"

"I don't know how to break it to you, dear, but the stork didn't bring you and brothers."

"Well, thanks a lot, Mum," said Ginny. "You've just put me off sex for the foreseeable future. And maybe dinner as well."

"Oh, do grow up, Ginny," Molly replied. "Now you go and take care of that man of yours. And while you're at it, maybe you can help your brother cheer up Hermione."

Hermione was the main reason they were taking what Molly referred to as "this little holiday." She and Ron had been trying to have a child, but had so far been unsuccessful. Hermione had grown seriously depressed as a result, and Ron was worried about her, as Harry and Ginny discovered when he turned up at their house unexpectedly one Sunday morning.

Ginny was standing near the stove in the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place, balancing James on one hip while Kreacher prepared a bottle for the baby when she heard the familiar whoosh of the Floo network and turned to see her brother's long form unfolding itself from the fireplace.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Harry, who was seated at the table with that day's _Prophet _in front of him.

"At her parents'," Ron said. "She fancied a chat with her mum." He sighed and helped himself to tea from the pot on the table and slouched in a chair next to Harry, looking as morose as either of them had ever seen him.

Ginny took the bottle from Kreacher and sat across from Ron while she fed the baby. "Out with it, brother dear," she said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Ron. He glanced at Harry, who looked as unconvinced as Ginny, and said, "Oh, all right. It's Hermione. She. . . She told me this morning that she thought I should divorce her."

"_What_?" Harry and Ginny said together.

Ron gazed into his teacup as though hoping to find answers there. "She thinks she's ruining my life. She thinks that because she hasn't . . . because _we_ haven't . . . that she's barren or something. Apparently her mum had a lot of problems having her and she's convinced it's hereditary."

"You haven't been trying that long," Ginny pointed out. "It's been less than a year."

"That's what I keep telling her, but it's fallen on deaf ears lately. And she thinks it's all her fault because our family . . . well, the Weasley fruitfulness is pretty well established. And this morning she found out that she wasn't . . . that it hadn't . . .worked again."

"Oh, Ron," Ginny said. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too, mate," said Harry.

Ron ran a distracted hand through his hair. "I can't understand it. It's not like we haven't _tried_, for Merlin's sake. I mean, we've been going at it like rabbits. . ."

"Er, Ron?" Harry interrupted. "A little too much information."

"Sorry," said Ron. "But every single month it's like a fresh slap in the face. She was so down this morning. I've never seen her that down before. I tried talking to her, but she just snapped at me that I should divorce her and find myself a 'normal' woman."

"And what did you say?" Ginny asked warily.

"I told her I didn't want a normal woman, I want her, and . . . well, that was when she decided to go visit her mum."

Ginny sighed again. "Ron, you have a unique talent for saying precisely the wrong thing at exactly the right moment."

"What was I supposed to say? She's got herself all worked up over this, though if you ask me that's at least half the problem. As uptight as she's been, her eggs are probably too tense for my, er, little blokes to . . . um, you know, do what they have to do."

"Fascinated though we are by your medical expertise," Ginny replied, while Harry struggled not to laugh, "have you thought about consulting a fertility specialist?"

"We've talked about it," Ron admitted. "But it's like you said, it really hasn't been that long and some of those tests are pretty drastic. Seriously, do you have any idea what they'd make me do?"

"They'd probably start by testing your sperm," said Ginny. "So you would have to . . ."

"Don't' say it!" Ron beseeched her. "And don't call it . . . you know." He looked around the kitchen, as though someone might be listening, and hissed between his teeth, "_Sperm_!"

"You prefer 'little blokes,' do you?" asked Harry, his lips twitching. "Why is it you can say 'eggs' then?"

"Well, because eggs are just . . . eggs, aren't they?" replied Ron with a glance at the remains of breakfast on the table.

"Are you making a baby or an omelet?" Harry snickered.

Ron glared at him. "If this is your idea of helping. . ."

"Sorry," said Harry, sobering at once. "But Ron, you know Hermione. She's not used to failing at anything. Not that's she's failed," he added hastily at the sight of Ron's scowl. "But it can't be easy for her, especially with the rest of us popping out babies left and right with so little effort."

"Speak for yourself," said Ginny, who had just draped James over her shoulder to burp him.

"I didn't mean it that way," Harry said, as their son gave a loud, satisfying belch. "But let's face it, love, we weren't really trying when James was conceived."

"And whose fault was that?" said Ginny, settling James down for the rest of his bottle.

"It was no one's fault," Harry said, blushing. "It just . . . happened."

"It 'happened' because you ambushed me in the shower where, obviously, neither of us had a wand," Ginny reminded him with a wry smile. "So much for constant vigilance."

Harry cleared his throat several times before saying, "I think you're right about Hermione being under too much pressure, Ron. As if holding down a full-time job with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures wasn't enough, now she's taken on a full course of study in wizarding law. When would she even find time to have a baby?"

"She plans to take a leave of absence from the Ministry once the baby comes and study law full-time for a bit," Ron said. "That is, if we can even have one. Blimey, you don't think there's really a . . . a problem with one of us, do you?"

"Well, it's like Ginny said, there's always fertility testing," Harry replied, but when Ron went pale he added, "But before you do anything like that, why not try getting her to relax?"

"Easier said than done, mate. You have _met_ Hermione, haven't you?"

"Maybe you should go away for awhile," Ginny suggested. "Take a second honeymoon or something and just forget about everything."

Ron shook his head sadly. "Being alone together without any distractions might not be quite the thing just now. Too many expectations and all that." He frowned suddenly. "Hey, here's a thought. Why don't the two of you come with us?"

"You don't think bringing your sister and best friend along might dampen the mood?" Ginny asked.

"Well, that way there'd be no pressure. It'd be just the four of us on holiday, sharing a few laughs and seeing the local sights. After all, the idea is to get Hermione to relax and enjoy herself, isn't it? I can't remember the last time she did that. Hell, I can't remember the last time any of us did that."

Harry looked hopefully at Ginny, but she looked away, biting her lip. She had never been away from her son for more than a few hours, and the idea of being separated from him for . . . how long were they thinking?

"It would only be for a few days," said Ron, as though reading Ginny's mind. "I'd never be able to convince Hermione to go away any longer than that, not with her schedule. Obviously we couldn't go very far, but one of our suppliers has a nice little place in central Cumbria called Rose Cottage. It's near a part-wizarding village too. He's offered it to me several times, so I know it wouldn't be any problem, and Mum and Dad would look after the baby for you. What do you say? It might be fun!"

Harry and Ginny agreed, but it was a couple of weeks before they could arrange to get away and the more time that passed, the more potential catastrophes seemed to occur to Ginny. There was a rickety old dresser in the kitchen at the Burrow that James might be able to pull over on top of himself. Then, too, there were so many choking hazards lying about and he was always putting things in his mouth. Would Mum remember that he preferred his stuffed unicorn to his teddy bear? And what about the lullaby Ginny always sang to him at bedtime? Would he be able to sleep if she wasn't there to tuck him in? And he was cutting a new tooth. . .

Ginny actually considered bringing James along, but since they were doing this for Hermione, it seemed rather cruel to flaunt her baby in her sister-in-law's face. Besides, Molly's admonitions kept ringing in her ears. Perhaps she _had_ been neglecting Harry. In the months since James's birth, Ginny had been so consumed with motherhood that everything else had fallen by the wayside, and while Harry had been wonderful about it, the truth was that he _did_ look wistful. Ginny felt that way herself when she thought of a time, not so very long ago, when they couldn't keep their hands off each other and being "ambushed" in the shower was a relatively common occurrence. Maybe this weekend she could make it up to him. Maybe this weekend they could recapture the magic.

They arrived on Friday night and settled into a cozy little cottage with chintz armchairs and plush sofas arranged around a huge, stone fireplace. A well appointed kitchen was stocked with a variety of food and beverages. Down the hall were two bedrooms with enormous canopy beds and large windows that faced a shimmering lake where swans floated serenely on the surface and red deer grazed on nearby grassy knolls. They were surrounded by green valleys and gently rolling hills in a lush landscape that had inspired some of England's greatest poets. Ginny began to feel a little inspired herself while she and Harry were unpacking in the room they had claimed as their own. He had just bent over to toss a handful of socks into a drawer when he noticed the way Ginny was smiling at him.

He grinned back at her. "What are you looking at?"

"Just admiring the view," Ginny replied, moving close enough to give the object of her admiration a firm squeeze.

Harry's brows lifted in surprise, but he kissed the place where her hair met her forehead, and it seemed to electrify Ginny. She quickly divested Harry of his shirt, and his belt was about to follow when he said, "What's gotten into you?"

"Are you complaining?" she asked.

"Far from it!" Harry replied, slipping her top over her head and pressing her back onto the bed while they struggled to remove their remaining clothing.

"I take it you approve then?" she said.

"Wholeheartedly," Harry said, rather breathlessly. "In fact, I. . ."

There was a knock on the door and Ron's voice was saying, "Ginny? Can I talk to you?"

Harry's head flopped back onto the pillow. "I think I hate him."

"I know I do," grumbled Ginny, but she scrambled back into her jeans and jumper and tossed Harry's trousers to him. "Just a minute, Ron," she called, waiting until her husband was at least semi-clothed before opening the door.

Ron took in their tousled appearances and said, "I didn't, er, interrupt anything, did I?"

"No, I was just sitting here wishing I was an only child," Ginny said. "What is it, Ron?"

"It's Hermione," Ron informed her miserably. "She's crying again. Would you . . . would you talk to her, Ginny? Please?"

Ginny looked at Harry, who was glaring at Ron. "You have a rubbish sense of timing, mate, has anyone ever told you?"

"I'll be back in a minute," Ginny promised. "Just . . . hold the thought, okay?"

She found Hermione curled up on the bed, sobbing into a pillow. She put her arms around her sister-in-law and said, "Hermione, it isn't the end of the world."

"Yes, it is!" Hermione wailed. "I'm a f-f-failure as a wife and as a w-w-woman."

"You are _not_ a failure," Ginny said adamantly. "You're a brilliant, accomplished witch, and I'm surprised at you for saying such a thing. Women are more than baby machines, you know."

"But I've ruined R-R-Ron's life," Hermione hiccoughed. "I c-c-can't even give him a child. . ."

"Ron loves you, in case you haven't noticed," Ginny said. "And he'll go on loving you whether you have children or not. It doesn't matter to him, Hermione, don't you realize that? All he wants is you."

"And I w-w-want him too, but it matters, Ginny. It matters to me and regardless of what he says, it matters to Ron. He comes from a large, loving family and I know he wants the same, but I can't give it to him and I . . . Oh, Ginny, I know it's wrong to be envious, but whenever I see you and Harry with little James, my arms just _ache_ to hold a child of my own."

"Well, who says you won't have one? Don't look at me like that, it can still happen! You haven't really been trying that long, and even if it doesn't work out, there are so many things healers can do these days. I'm sure they'll be able to help you."

Hermione swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so. It's going to happen for you, Hermione. I know it will!"

Hermione found a handkerchief and blew her nose. ""Here we are in this beautiful place, and I'm spoiling it for everyone," she said once she had composed herself. "Oh, Ginny, I don't mean to imply that I begrudge you your baby. It's just that when I see how happy you and Harry are. . ."

Ginny sighed. "Appearances can be deceptive."

Hermione blinked. "What do you mean?"

Ginny played with a loose thread on the coverlet. "I'm tired all the time, Hermione. Even with Kreacher and Winky to help out, there just aren't enough hours in the day. I've had to let a lot of things slide, and unfortunately, one of them is Harry."

"Has he complained?" Hermione asked.

"Not really," Ginny admitted. "But I know he feels shut out sometimes. When James was first born I didn't care about anything besides getting through each day, and I felt so lumpy and leaky that I couldn't believe Harry even found me attractive. He says he did, but I didn't feel like it then, and ever since it's been so hard to fit everything in. It's nearly impossible to find time to be together and lately . . . Well, Mum mentioned something just before we came here. She thinks Harry looks 'wistful.'"

"Wistful?" said Hermione. "You mean. . . Oh!"

"I hate to admit it, but she's right. I can't remember the last time we did anything in bed besides sleep. Although just before Ron burst in on us. . ."

"Oh, no," said Hermione as realization dawned. "I'm so sorry, Ginny."

"Don't be," Ginny said. "It's not your fault. Not really. After all, the reason we came here in the first place . . . Hermione, do you know what I think? I think we have a similar problem, you and I."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand."

"We both have babies on the brain," Ginny explained. "I've been totally focused on James while you've been totally focused on getting pregnant. And somewhere along the way, we've lost sight of something every bit as important."

Hermione sighed. "Now you mention it, Ron's been looking a little wistful himself. Ever since we started trying to conceive, it's all been rather 'clinical.' He even said something recently about feeling like a . . . a stud horse."

Ginny's mouth twisted as she fought to hold back a laugh. "Oh, dear."

"Well, what do you propose we do about it then?" Hermione asked.

"I think we ought to take my mother's advice. She thinks I need to 'take care' of Harry. And from the sound of things, you need to 'take care' of Ron, too."

"Your _mother_ told you that?" said Hermione, looking faintly shocked.

"She isn't always wrong," said Ginny. "In fact, she's been known to have some pretty good ideas. I don't know about you, Hermione, but I think it's time we wiped that wistful look right off their faces."

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_**A/N:**__ Review please! Even if it's just a word or two, it always makes me write faster. And yes, before you ask, there is more to come. _


	2. Chapter 2: The Rose Line

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:** As you read this chapter you may be thinking, "Aha! DaVinci Code!" And you would be right. The Rose Line plays a prominent role in Dan Brown's famous novel, but I've attributed magical qualities to it that are uniquely my own and do not, as far as I know, actually exist. However, the Rose Line really does run through parts of the Lake District in central Cumbria, and the rose is an ancient pagan symbol of love and fertility, two things that sometimes go together._

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**Chapter Two**

_The Rose Line_

Harry and Ron were draped like ferns over tankards of ale as they sat in one of the many quaint little village pubs. The women were out shopping, and their husbands had been sitting at the bar for a long time without speaking. After several minutes, Ron looked up and said, "Is it my imagination . . ."

Harry, who looked a bit dazed, shook his head. "Definitely not."

"Something in the air, do you reckon?" Ron said. "Because if it is, I may try to bottle and sell it."

Harry managed a weak chuckle. "You'd make a fortune!"

"Yeah!" said Ron. "What do you suppose has gotten into them?"

"Maybe they're just trying to be nice," said Harry. "Or maybe Hermione is trying to kill you. It certainly sounded that way last night. You know, a _Muffliato_ wouldn't come amiss."

"Nor from your end either," Ron retorted. "I'm surprised you could hear us with all the racket you two were making. Seriously, though, don't you think it's a bit strange?"

"What do you mean, strange?" Harry asked.

"Hermione hasn't said anything about having a baby all weekend. Not since the first night we got here, and that's really strange because it's practically all she's talked about lately."

"H'm," said Harry thoughtfully. "Ginny hasn't mentioned James either. She was so worried about leaving him, too. I thought she'd be wanting to Floo home three or four times a day while we were here. And yet, so far, not a word."

Ron frowned. "I hope Hermione hasn't given up. Just because it hasn't happened yet . . . I'm willing to try fertility counseling, if that's what it takes."

"Of course you are," said Harry.

"For months all I've heard about is how much she wants a baby. And now all of a sudden she seems to be over it. Does that mean. . . Blimey, Harry! You don't think she was serious about wanting a divorce?"

"What?" Harry said. "How do you come up with these mad ideas?"

"It's just so out of character for her," Ron said. "This whole weekend, she's been all over me like a rash, and not in the usual way, if you know what I mean."

Harry thought of the wand in his pocket and wondered if he ought to try hitting Ron between the eyes with a Silencing charm. He was getting himself all worked up, which usually meant that Harry would end up hearing things he would rather not know. He could not understand how a man who couldn't bring himself to say a word like "sperm" could yet be so willing to spill his guts over the most intimate details of his life. All the Weasleys were like that to a certain extent, and it was just so . . . un-English!

"Do you think Hermione would like to go see that Stone Circle this afternoon?" Harry asked in a blatantly transparent attempt to change the subject. "Ginny said something about. . ."

Unfortunately, Ron was on a roll. It was too late, even for Silencing charms. "She's laughing all the time too. What does she have to be so cheerful about all of a sudden? And she keeps telling me how much she loves me. What's up with that, eh? Maybe it's a guilty conscience. You don't think she's having an affair, do you?"

"That's completely mental," Harry said wearily. "You know she wouldn't. . ."

"Then why is she acting this way? I'm telling you, Harry, she hasn't been like this since . . . well, hell! Since before we got married!"

"Seriously, Ron. My head?" Harry made gestures indicating an explosion. "All over the bar!"

"Well, I'm not giving her a divorce," Ron said adamantly. "Even if she _has_ given up, I'm not letting her run away from me. I'm willing to fight for her and if there's another man, I'll fight him too, whoever the bastard is."

"Ron, you're letting your insecurities run away with you," Harry said. "Why don't you get a grip before you fly off the handle and do something you'll . . ."

Harry broke off as Ginny and Hermione entered the pub. At the sight of them, Ron stood up and shouted, "I'm not divorcing you!"

"You're drunk, aren't you?" said Hermione. She picked up the empty tankard in front of him. "How many of these have you had?"

"I'm _not_ drunk and we're _not_ getting a divorce!" Ron declared.

Hermione stared at him. "Good. On both counts."

For dinner that evening they went to a charming little restaurant on the outskirts of the village called The Rose. It was a wizarding establishment and the food was reputed to be excellent, but the atmosphere was strained because Ron kept darting reproachful looks at Hermione and Harry kept staring at him with a worried crease between his brows. The two women looked questioningly at one another while Ron scowled at the menu until Hermione signaled to Ginny, and they both excused themselves to go to the Ladies.

"That's the last time I listen to your mother!" Hermione said once they were sequestered.

"What happened?" asked Ginny, feeling every bit as bewildered as Hermione looked. "It all seemed to be going so well."

"Incredibly well," Hermione agreed. "Maybe it has something to do with getting away from all the stress and responsibility, but it's just been . . . wow!"

"I _know_!" Ginny said emphatically. "It's been the same with us. But what's got Ron's wand in a knot?"

"How should I know?" Hermione said in a tired voice. "I tried asking him. He just snarled at me!"

"Well, let me try then. If Ron won't tell me, Harry might. And if all else fails, there's always my Bat Bogey Hex."

They returned to the table where Ron was staring moodily at the wine list and Harry was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "All right, you two," said Ginny as she and Hermione took their seats. "We want to know what's going on and we won't take no for an . . ."

She broke off as a plump, round-faced man in a crisp, white apron approached them. "I beg your pardon," he said, wringing his hands in a nervous fashion. "Don't mean to disturb, but I couldn't help noticing . . . Are you . . . Aren't you Harry Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Yes, I am."

"And you're Ron Weasley, aren't you? And Hermione Granger, of course."

"It's Granger-Weasley now," said Hermione. "But yes. Have we met?"

"Well, no," said the man. "But I believe you've met my wife." He indicated a tiny woman with graying curls who was bobbing along in his wake, smiling hopefully. "Oh, but where are my manners? I'm the proprietor here. My name is Monte Sinclair, and this is my wife Sophie."

"How do you do?" said Harry, shaking the man's hand and nodding in the direction of his wife. "This is my wife, Ginny."

Mrs. Sinclair gave a little squeak. "You're Ginny Weasley!"

"Well, Ginny Potter, actually," said Ginny, looking curiously at her. "But correct in the essentials."

"Our daughter was such a huge fan of yours, Mrs. Potter," Mrs. Sinclair said fawningly. "She always said you were the best Chaser the Harpies ever had. Oh, wait till I tell her we've met you! She'll be so thrilled! Could I . . . would you possibly . . . An autograph? All four of you?"

"Excuse me," said Hermione, while Ginny signed a piece of parchment for Mrs. Sinclair and passed it round to the others. "But you say we've met. I'm afraid I don't . . ."

"My wife is Muggle-born, Mrs. Weasley," Sinclair explained. "She was one of the witches interrogated by Dolores Umbridge at the Ministry of Magic the day that the three of you. . ."

"Oh!" Hermione said. "I see."

"I've always wanted to thank you," said Mrs. Sinclair. "Because of you, Monte and I and our children were able to escape the country until after. . . Well, who knows what might have happened otherwise?"

"We can never thank you enough," Sinclair added. "Even after all these years, the thought of my wife in Azkaban . . ." He placed an arm around his wife, who wiped away a tremulous tear. "But thanks to the three of you, I never had to face that nightmare."

"I'm glad we were able to help," said Harry sincerely.

"You did much more than help, Mr. Potter," Sinclair informed him. "And I do hope you'll allow us to express our gratitude by treating you all to dinner this evening."

"We couldn't allow you to do that," said Ron.

"Please, Mr. Weasley," Sinclair implored. "It's the least we can do. After all, if it wasn't for you, your wife, and Mr. Potter here, we'd never have been able to come back to The Rose, which has been in my family for generations."

"The Rose," Hermione said thoughtfully. "There are a lot of floral allusions here, aren't they?'"

"Ah!" said Sinclair, beaming. "Well, you see, there is a Rose Festival here every summer. And of course the village itself is located on the Rose Line."

"The Rose Line?" asked Ginny. Harry and Ron looked equally blank, but Hermione appeared to understand.

"It's an ancient meridian or ley line that runs through Paris and parts of Britain," Hermione explained, sounding, as usual, as though she'd been fed intravenously by a reference library. "I know it's supposed to pass through Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland, but I've never heard . . ."

"The Line runs through Cumbria as well, Mrs. Weasley," Mrs. Sinclair confirmed. "And it is said to have many magical properties."

"Really?" said Hermione. "I'd never heard that either. What sort of magical properties?"

"Why, those of an amorous nature, of course," said Mrs. Sinclair. "It's similar to a love potion, only here it's in the very air we breathe." She cast a sly look at the two couples. "Haven't you felt it?"

Hermione and Ginny looked startled, while Harry and Ron shifted uneasily in their chairs. "Are you saying," said Hermione, "that the atmosphere here is conducive to. . ."

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Sinclair replied. "The rose is an ancient pagan symbol of love and fertility. There is a place very near here called Rose Cottage that is especially famed for its magic in blessing those who grace its environs."

"Blessing?" said Ginny. "What type of blessing?"

"Well, it's only a legend," Mrs. Sinclair said with a smile. "But they say that any couple who stays there will learn very soon that a little one is on the way."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Harry and Ginny did the same. But while the look that passed between Hermione and Ron was hopeful, Ginny and Harry both looked a bit nervous.

"Is there a specialty of the house?" Harry said, returning to the menu. "What would you recommend?"

Mr. Sinclair offered to bring them a selection of the very best his establishment had to offer, including the finest wines made from the petals and leaves of locally grown roses. As soon as the Sinclairs had scurried away to prepare their meal, Ron looked at Hermione and said, "You don't really think . . .?"

"She said it was a legend," Hermione reminded him, though the hope in her eyes was almost painful to see. "That doesn't necessarily mean it's true."

"For your sake, I hope it is," said Harry. "But I would like to know a little more about this supplier of yours, Ron. Didn't you say it was his cottage?"

Ron frowned. "I don't actually know that it is. It's like I told you, he offered it to me a couple of times, but he never said it was his. He just said he could arrange for us to stay there."

"He's one of the joke shop suppliers, I assume," Harry said. "What does he supply?"

Ron's eyes shifted from Harry to Ginny and back to Hermione. "Love potions."

There was a long, very pregnant pause. "Did he say anything about the rose legend?" Ginny demanded. "Did he know that you and Hermione were trying to have a baby?"

"He might have," Ron said tentatively. "We went to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink once. He's a nice sort of bloke, one of those people who can really draw you out, you know? I may have mentioned something to him. But all he really said was that the cottage was in a very romantic location. And I thought, well, sure, the scenery's gorgeous. . ."

"Well, that's just great," Ginny said. "Well done, Ron! The last thing Harry and I need is another baby right now."

"Ginny, relax," Harry said. "We've taken precautions. Unless the magic is powerful enough to break through a pretty powerful contraception spell, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"There better not be," said Ginny. She glared at her brother, but he had eyes only for Hermione.

"Is that why you've been this way?" Ron asked. "I wondered. . ."

"Wondered what?" said Hermione. "What way are you talking about?"

"I thought you'd given up," Ron said. "You haven't said anything about it all weekend, and yet you've been so . . ."

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione when she recognized the source of his confusion. "I know I've been hard to live with lately. I've been trying to make it up to you by being more cheerful and, well, affectionate. This whole thing has been so frustrating for me, and I can't help hoping it'll still happen someday. But I'll always love you. No matter what happens."

"I'll always love you, too," Ron said, placing a hand on the side of her face in a gesture of such tenderness that tears sprang to her eyes. "It's been frustrating for me as well, but mostly because I hate seeing you so unhappy. But whether or not we ever have a baby, Hermione, as long as we have each other, we have more than enough. Don't we?"

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. They felt like intruders, but neither Ron nor Hermione appeared to remember they were there. Fortunately, they were spared the necessity of announcing their presence by the arrival of the Sinclairs with a bottle of wine and four glasses.

They drank their way through two full bottles that perfectly complemented the many delicious courses laid before them. When dessert was served, Mr. Sinclair brought out a third bottle that he claimed was the best in the house. After the wine had been poured, Harry cleared his throat and said, "What shall we drink to this time?"

Ron lifted his glass and shocked everyone at the table to their very core by reciting:

_"My love is like a red, red rose,_

_That's newly sprung in June._

_My love is like a melody,_

_That's sweetly played in tune._

_As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,_

_So deep in love am I,_

_And I will love thee still, my dear,_

_Till all the seas gang dry."_

Hermione stared in disbelief for a full minute before saying in a choky whisper, "That's Robert Burns."

Ron's smile was self-conscious. "Mum used to make us memorize poetry when we were little. She made us repeat that one back to her before we were allowed to go to Hogwarts with Dad to watch Charlie play Quidditch. Remember, Ginny?"

Ginny, whose mouth had been hanging open, said, "I can't believe you still remember it after all this time!"

"I only remember the first part," said Ron. "But it seemed, I dunno. Appropriate."

Hermione continued to stare for several more minutes. Then she stood up. "We need to go back to the cottage."

"Why?" Ron asked.

"Because I'm about to start tearing your clothes off," Hermione informed him calmly. "And I just thought you'd prefer my doing that in a private setting."

Ron responded with alacrity, and as soon as they'd gone, Ginny turned to Harry and said, "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that!"

"And I doubt you ever will again," said Harry, who still looked stunned. "That was. . . amazing."

"It was," Ginny agreed. "There really is something about this place, isn't there?"

They both took a quick look at their surroundings. There were several embracing couples nearby and a few more were gazing deeply into each other's eyes. It reminded Harry of Madam Puddifoot's, though without the frills, bows or cherubs.

"Is that why you've been. . ." Harry began, but Ginny cut him off.

"No," she said. "That was us. Just us. Remember 'us,' Harry?"

"It's been awhile," Harry admitted with a smile. "But, yes, I do remember."

They were sitting very close together, hands clasped on the table between them. Ginny could see every fleck in those emerald eyes. She felt an overwhelming desire to bury her fingers in that untidy mop of black hair and mess it up even more.

"Have you thought about James at all this weekend?" Harry asked, halting Ginny in mid-impulse.

"Of course I have," she said, blinking in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"You haven't mentioned him," Harry said with a shrug. "I just wondered why."

"It's because . . . Well, Mum had a talk with me before we came here." And she briefly described her conversation with Molly.

Harry was silent for several minutes. He seemed to be digesting what she had told him. "What?" said Ginny.

"I'm just trying to adjust to the idea of my mother-in-law keeping track of whether or not I'm getting any," Harry said. "That's quite a revelation, really."

Ginny giggled. "Very observant woman, my mum."

"So when we go back, she'll know . . .?"

"Probably," said Ginny. "Can't hide much from her. At least I never could."

"Great," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "That'll be something to look forward to, then."

Ginny laughed again. "So was she right? Am I the cause of that 'wistful' look?"

"Do I look wistful?"

"Not any more," said Ginny. "But do you feel I've been neglecting you? I haven't meant to."

"I know you haven't. But yes, maybe I have felt that way, a little."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I love you so much, Harry. You're my heart."

"And you're mine. But one of the things I love about you is what a wonderful mother you are to our son. You never have to pretend with me, Ginny. I care about James too, and I worry about him just as much as you do. Well, maybe not just as much. . ."

"I know," said Ginny. "But I wasn't pretending. I knew James was in good hands, and I just wanted to be with you. The way we used to be. The way I hope we'll always be."

Harry closed the distance between them, not even noticing the Sinclairs beaming at them from a distance. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" he murmured against her lips.

"Something very, very good, I'll wager," she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing in the scent that was so uniquely _him_, it made her dizzy.

"We should come back here sometime," Harry said as he bent to kiss her again.

Ginny laughed softly. "Oh, we are _so_ coming back here!"

_**

* * *

**__**A/N:**__ Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. I also appreciate everyone who has placed my story on your Story Alert and Favorites lists, but if you could take just a moment to hit the little "Go" button at the bottom of this page and leave a few words in the review form, it would absolutely make my day. Thank you so much!_


	3. Chapter 3: Special Author's Note

_Special Author's Note from Cassandra's Cross_

Pardon the interruption in the story, but this explanation seemed necessary in light of comments and questions by a couple of reviewers. _Great Expectations_ continues with Chapter 3 immediately following this note (just click the arrow to the right and please accept my apologizies for any confusion).

**THE SENSIBLE UNIVERSE (SU)**

**January 1, 2008:** The Sensible or Sober Universe (SU) was conceived by a fanfic author on the FFN Reviews Lounge. The SU philosophy expresses the view of many of us who have have tried to keep our stories "canon," in line with J.K.Rowling's vision for Harry Potter, but who, in light of recent revelations, can no longer do so. The "Sober" Universe was in reference to a tongue-in-cheek opinion expressed by another author (not me) that Ms. Rowling must have been high when she made some of her post-series decisions. Although I don't believe that's true, I do question both the sense and sensitivity of some of her decisions, which is why I prefer the phrase "Sensible Universe."

Without going into the reasons for my objections (which I've already chronicled in sufficient detail in other, more appropriate forums) suffice it to say that all my fics, now and forevermore, will be SU. They will adhere as closely as possible to canon, but only insofar as canon facts make sense to me.

I am aware that, by its very nature, fanfiction is not "canon," but for those of us who showed enough respect for Ms. Rowling to make every effort to keep our fics aligned with her vision, this decision has not been an easy one. Had she included any or all of this information at the end of Deathly Hallows, that would have been wonderful. Instead she gave us a very sparse Epilogue and then proceeded to dribble out information in a manner that many fans, myself included, have found a little upsetting. I loved the universe that Jo created in the first seven books, but beyond "The Flaw in the Plan," I've come to prefer the kinder, gentler world of my own imagination and that of other talented fanfic writers.

And to quote Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."


	4. Chapter 4: Surprises

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:** In case you're confused (I know I am!) even though it says Chapter 4 on the little box at the top of the page, this really is Chapter Three. I'll probably delete my Special Author's Note in the Chapter 3 space eventually, but in the meantime just take my word for it that this is Chapter Three. And here we go . . ._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_Surprises_

Ginny met Harry at the door with James in her arms and an angry, tear-streaked face.

"You've done it this time," she informed him. "This time you've really gone and done it!"

"Done what?" asked Harry, who had just come home from work and couldn't think of anything he could have done to warrant such a greeting.

Ginny responded with just two words, but she spat them out like a fur-ball. "I'm pregnant!"

James began to cry and Ginny turned aside to comfort him. Harry remained rooted to the spot where she had hit him with the news, unable to move or even think very clearly. He was, however, able to speak and unfortunately he said the wrong thing.

"How is that possible?" Harry asked. "I mean . . . How did this happen?"

Ginny spun around to face him, looking even angrier, if that were possible. "I'd have thought you could work that one out on your own. You were _there_, remember?"

"Ginny . . ."

"Oh, I will kill my brother!" she shouted, heedless of the fact that James was now screaming in terror. "I will absolutely kill him! This is all his fault!"

"Well, not _entirely _his fault," Harry said fairly, but at the murderous look on Ginny's face, he thought, _Shut up, Potter!_

The baby's wails brought Winky on the run. "Master James, Master James!" she cried in her squeaky little voice. "Mistress, you is upsetting him!"

"Why don't you take him, Winky?" said Harry. "At least until Mrs. Potter calms down."

The devoted elf took the baby from his mother's unresisting arms. Harry waited until she had disappeared round the corner before reaching out for Ginny, who shrank away from him.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed. "That's what got me into this mess in the first place."

Harry refrained from pointing out that this was like locking the stable door after the horse was already galloping into the next county. Ginny went into the sitting room and flopped down on the sofa, beating her fists against the cushions in rage and frustration. Harry followed and stood over her, looking down with a concerned frown etched upon his brow.

"Ginny," he said. "Can we talk about this?"

She shot him a furious glare. "What's there to talk about?"

"All right," said Harry, "I realize the situation isn't ideal . . ."

"You _think_?" Ginny said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I have an eight-month-old baby and another on the way. What woman in her right mind wouldn't want to trade places?"

"First of all, James is almost nine months. . ." Harry began, but Ginny cut him off before he could complete the thought.

"Oh, well, that makes _all_ the difference, doesn't it?" she said. "I can't believe you waited so long to knock me up again, Potter!"

Harry took a deep breath. "Is it working?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Is any of this helping?" Harry asked. "Because if it is, please continue. Shout. Scream. Rant. Rave. By all means, take a swing at me, if you think it'll make you feel better. I've endured worse, believe me."

Ginny peered up at him through her lashes, but didn't say anything. After a minute he sat down next to her, and when she didn't pull out her wand and hex him into a new century, he lifted her onto his lap. She leaned into him with a soft moan and he stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth as if she was a small child, which she very much seemed to him just then. He kissed her brow and murmured nonsense until he felt some of the tension leaving her, then he said, "Feel better at all?"

"Maybe," she admitted. "Or not. Oh, Harry, what are we going to do?"

"Well, I _think_ we're going to have another baby. Ginny, love, is it really so terrible?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I suppose it's not the end of civilization as we know it. But I'm just not _ready_ to go through it all again: the queasiness, the swollen ankles, my body blowing up like a dirigible. And James is still so little. I'd hoped to have more time with him before we had another child."

"I know," Harry said. "When are we due?"

"April," Ginny replied. "And thanks for the 'we."

"No problem," said Harry. "We're in it together, aren't we? I just wish I could go through it for you this time."

"You and me both," Ginny said sulkily.

"So. . . April," said Harry, doing some rapid mental calculations. "That means there'll be about the same difference in age between this baby and James as there was between you and Ron, give or take a month."

"Yes, well, if that's supposed to make me feel better, it's not exactly. . ." Ginny broke off, horrified. "Oh, Harry! I just thought of something. What about Hermione?"

"What about her?"

"How are we ever going to tell her? She wants a baby so desperately and now we. . ."

"Oh, no," Harry said, as a sinking sensation washed over him. "I hadn't even thought . . . She hasn't said anything to you, has she? I mean, she isn't. . . Even after Rose Cottage. . .?"

"No," said Ginny. "And I know she would have said something straight away if she thought she might be. Of course she's been at that wizarding conference in Budapest for the past two weeks. You don't suppose. . ."

"I don't think we'd better pin our hopes on the possibility. Damn! This is going to be rough."

"Maybe we could put off telling them for a bit," Ginny suggested.

"Define 'a bit'."

"How about we wait until he or she is ready for Hogwarts? We'll just turn up with him or her at King's Cross and let everyone draw their own conclusions."

Harry smiled. Ginny must be feeling better if she could make jokes. "You don't think anyone might figure it out before then?"

"Not if we're careful. Merlin, what a disaster!" She laid her head on Harry's shoulder and toyed with his collar. "Will you still love me when I'm big as a house? Again?"

"I'll love you even if you're the size of two houses. As many times as you subdivide. Or refurbish. Or undergo restorations."

Ginny managed a faint smile. "I'm sorry for pitching into you. I didn't mean it. Not really. It was just the shock and . . . well, me and my Weasley temper. You must think I'm a perfect horror."

"I think you're perfect," Harry said. "And I wouldn't have you any other way except the way you are, Weasley temper and all."

"What about my Bat Bogey Hex?"

Harry considered for a minute. "Okay, _that_ I could live without."

Ginny laughed and snuggled closer, burying her face in his robes. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Because I love you," Harry said. "And because I feel like the luckiest man in the world to be married to you."

"Do you?" asked Ginny. "Can't think why." Her face was pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, like the tiny heart beating inside of her now. "I wonder what it's like to actually _plan_ to have a baby?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "We should try that sometime."

Ginny looked up at him. "Just not any time soon, all right?"

* * *

Lying in bed that night, Ginny's head was whirling. Long after the sound of Harry's breathing told her that he had fallen into a deep sleep she lay awake, her mind ticking down like a too tightly wound watch. Why, oh _why_ had this happened, and why _now_ of all possible times? It wasn't that she'd never considered the possibility of another child. In fact, she had always assumed they would have more, but it was too _soon_. Merlin's pants, it was just too _soon_! 

She thought of James who had just started crawling, creeping about on his sturdy little knees and getting into everything he could lay his chubby, dimpled hands on. He was a live wire, with enough energy for three babies, and already showing signs of having inherited the mischievous bent of numerous Weasley relatives, as well as the famous (or perhaps infamous) Marauder grandfather for whom he was named. His bright blue eyes held a twinkle that always made Ginny think of her brother Fred, whose memory was often elusive despite the constant reminder in the form of his surviving twin. But Fred had always been the more roguish of the two, and this was a quality she now saw in her son, though in James it was as yet undeveloped. So far it was limited to whatever he could shove in his mouth, rub in his hair, bang his head on, or roll around in, but Ginny had a feeling there were many more challenges to come. How on earth was she supposed to cope with a child like that and an infant as well? It made her feel tired just thinking about it.

It wasn't as if Harry would actually be around to help. He was very understanding, but for all his talk of their being "in it together," it really was down to her to deal with the day-to-day drudgery. His job as an Auror was incredibly demanding. He was always being called out on emergencies, whereas her job as a Qudditch reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ allowed her a certain amount of latitude which meant that _she_ was the one always left at home to cope with everything. Of course they'd planned it that way and she had agreed most readily in the beginning, but that was before she'd faced the cold, hard reality. And she certainly hadn't planned on having two babies at the same time.

Ginny sighed and rolled onto her side to face Harry. He looked so vulnerable when he was sleeping, the long black lashes almost brushing his cheeks, the lips that did amazing things to her when he was awake and spoke such loving words of hope and comfort. But those same lips had once repudiated her in the name of the greater good, and she knew only too well his willingness to sacrifice himself for others. Would he do it again if the need ever arose, and would she be left behind to pick up the pieces of a shattered life? Her feelings for Harry went beyond passion. Every beat of her heart beat for him. But however much she loved him, Ginny had never completely forgiven him for setting her aside to hunt down Voldemort's Horcruxes, nor had she ever recovered from the hideous shock of seeing him lying apparently dead in Hagrid's arms at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Ginny didn't think she could survive a repetition, especially not with two young children to care for. It befuddled her mind even to think of it. It made her brain feel fuzzy and indistinct. Or perhaps she was, quite simply, finally falling asleep . . .

* * *

_She was walking down the stairs of a house that looked very much as it had ever since Harry had arranged for it to be magically renovated soon after the war. The door to the kitchen was slightly ajar and the light was on, which was certainly odd. Perhaps Kreacher had forgotten, though this would be out of character for him, because the old house-elf was conscientious to a fault about such things. Ginny pushed the door open and stopped, transfixed, on the threshold at the sight of two people who had no business being there, who had no business being anywhere at all for that matter._

"_Wotcher!" said a woman with short, spiky hair in a shocking bubble-gum pink shade. _

_Her smile was as vibrantly alive as Ginny had ever seen it. Next to her was a man, also smiling in an achingly familiar way, though his hair was thicker and darker, and his thin face held no hint of the remembered sadness. They were sitting at the table exactly as Ginny had seen them sitting numerous times in the past. Only now they were in her own modern kitchen instead of the gothic monstrosity it had been when the house was headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix._

"_T-T-Tonks?" Ginny stuttered. "R-R-Remus?"_

"_Hello, Ginny," said Remus Lupin. "You look very well."_

"_Doesn't she, though?" said Tonks. "She's grown up to be quite a beauty, hasn't she, Remus?"_

"_The signs were always there," Remus said kindly. "She was always a pretty girl."_

_Tonks glanced round with avid curiosity at the new cabinets and worktops, taking in the tile floors, cheerful wallpaper, and top-of-the-range appliances. "Love what you've done with the place. Old Grimmuald isn't quite so grim any more, is it? Quite a change from our day, eh, Remus?"_

"_Indeed," said Remus. "Sirius wouldn't recognize it now. He sends his regards, by the way. He would have come, but we thought it might have been a little overwhelming. It's probably enough of a shock seeing us, isn't it?"_

_To say the least, thought Ginny. "What. . ." she began and stopped as words caught in her throat as though set with glue. "What are you . . . Aren't you . . .?"_

"_Dead?" said Remus, apparently taking pity on her. "Quite."_

"_Shouldn't you sit down, Ginny?" Tonks asked. "You look pale."_

_Ginny groped her way to a chair and sat in it. "Am I dreaming?" she asked._

"_What do you think?" Remus asked._

"_I. . . I think I must be," said Ginny. "Am I?"_

_Tonks shrugged. "Sure. Why not? Listen, Ginny, the reason we're here. . ."_

"_Perhaps you should allow me, Dora," said Remus, placing a gentle, albeit restraining hand on her arm. "No offense, my love, but you do tend to blurt things out."_

"_Oh, very well," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. "But get to the point, won't you, Remus? And try not to take all night about it. The poor girl needs rest. She's pregnant, you know!"_

"_I'm perfectly aware of that, Dora. Isn't that why we're here?"_

"_Excuse me," asked Ginny. "Why __are__ you here?"_

_Remus leaned across the table, looking like the former professor he had been. __My__ professor, thought Ginny, remembering Defense Against the Dark Arts classes during her second year at Hogwarts. She had learned so much from him. They all had._

"_The thing is, Ginny, Tonks and I both had experiences that relate to your situation," said Remus. "I certainly know what it's like to feel burdened by news that ought to be joyful . . ."_

"_And I know what it's like to be married to a self-sacrificing prat," Tonks said cheerfully. "They should form a club, those two: 'Noble Gits United.' You and I could start up a Wives Auxiliary."_

"_As you know, I ran when I learned that Dora was expecting our child," said Remus. "It's not something I'm proud of, but I learned something very important as a result of that frantic flight, and Harry was the one who taught me. I wanted to kill him for what he said to me in this very kitchen, but I knew he was right even when I was shouting at him. Whenever I think of how I nearly missed the miracle of my son's birth because of my own irrational phobias . . . Well, I can only be thankful that Dora found it in her heart to forgive my cowardice."_

"_It wasn't easy," Tonks admitted. "I was furious with him for leaving. Talk about wanting to kill somebody!"_

"_Yes, I remember," said Remus, rubbing the side of his face with a rueful grimace. "I think you just about dislocated my jaw with that 'greeting' you gave me."_

"_You had it coming," Tonks said. "Nearly scared the life out of me, running round with Death Eaters on the loose!"_

"_I paid the price later," said Remus. "That was why you came after me during the Battle of Hogwarts. Because you were afraid I might not come back."_

_"It was Teddy who paid the ultimate price," Tonks said sadly. "Both him and Mum, really."_

"_Poor Andromeda," Remus sighed. "She lost so much: first her family for marrying your dad. . ."_

"_No great loss, that," Tonks commented._

"_Then she lost him," Remus continued. "And then you. . ."_

"_And you," Tonks pointed out._

"_Again, no great loss," Remus said with a wry smile.__"The point is, our fears led us to cause those we loved so much pain. All unwitting perhaps, but that didn't make the hurt any less."_

"_We're so grateful for everything you and Harry have done for Teddy," said Tonks. "It's such a comfort knowing you're at hand to offer him the family we denied him by leaving him when he was just a baby."_

"_We love Teddy," Ginny said. "We've always thought of him as our own."_

"_We know," said Remus. "And we're grateful for it. We made the right decision in choosing Harry as godfather. And he obviously made the right decision in choosing you."_

"_I still don't understand," Ginny said. "Why are you telling me this? Why have you come here?"_

_Remus and Tonks exchanged a look. "I'm not sure we can explain all of it, Ginny," said Remus. "Some of it you'll just have to find out on your own. What we can tell you, however, is that it has to do with the child you're carrying."_

_Ginny's hands fluttered automatically to her midriff. "What about it?"_

"_It's a special baby," said Tonks. "But then, all babies are special, aren't they? Especially to their parents."_

"_I don't understand," Ginny said again. "Is there something wrong with the baby? Is there. . ."_

"_Ginny, do you remember what I taught Harry in his third year at Hogwarts?" asked Remus. "That would have been your second year, of course, but his third. Do you remember?_

_"You taught him how to produce a Patronus."_

"_And he taught you, along with all the other members of Dumbledore's Army. What form did your Patronus take?"_

"_It was a horse," said Ginny. "A mare, actually. It's been awhile since I've cast the charm, but . . ."_

"_Can you cast it for me now?" Remus asked._

"_I don't have my wa. . ." Ginny began, but suddenly her wand was in her hand. _

"_Do you remember the incantation?" Remus asked._

"_Of course," said Ginny. '"Expecto Patronum!'"_

"_And the memory? What happy memory would you choose now?" _

_Ginny had to think about this for a minute, because there were so many to choose from. There was the day Harry first told her that he loved her. It was something he claimed that he had promised himself he would say if only he lived long enough to say it, and he took the first opportunity to do so, the day after the Battle when everything lay in ruins, and at that moment Ginny had known the sun would shine again, that despite all the death and destruction there would be happiness someday. There was also the day she'd first flown with the Harpies when she scored a goal on her very first attempt. A shout had gone up from the stands, the voices of her family and friends prominent among them, and the sight of a large green and gold banner held by Harry at one end and Ron at the other, with the words "Weasley is Our Queen!" painted across it. There was her wedding day when she floated down the aisle on her father's arm in a huge tent full of people, though all she could see was the tall, black-haired man in green dress robes who looked endearingly nervous yet blissfully happy. And the moment they were declared bonded for life when she saw her reflection in Harry's glasses as he bent to kiss her, and she was smiling in a way she had never smiled before. And of course there was the day James was born when they placed him in her arms, a tiny, warm, wriggling bundle, and he opened his eyes and seemed to see her, really see her, though of course he really couldn't see anything yet. But he __seemed__ to see her, and she whispered, "Hello, little one, I'm your mum!" And she was certain that somewhere, somehow, he really did understand. _

_Ginny was not aware of repeating the incantation, but all of a sudden something burst from the end of her wand, and it startled her, because it was not the silver horse she had produced the first time she cast the charm and every single time thereafter. It was a doe which stepped gracefully across the kitchen floor and looked back at her with large, pale eyes before slowly fading into nothingness._

"_You understand, don't you?" said Tonks, smiling. "Mine did the same when all my happy memories were tied up in one person. It never changed again after that. Although there were times when I wished it had. Stupid noble git!"_

"_We should go now," Remus said. _

"_Wait," Ginny urged. "I still have so many questions . . ."_

"_And the answers will come in the fullness of time," Remus promised. "But now we really have to go."_

"_Give our best to Harry," said Tonks. "Oh, and congratulate Ron and Hermione for us, won't you?"_

"_Congratulate them for what? What are you talking about?"_

"_You'll find out," said Remus. "But now you really do need to wake up. Wake up, Ginny. It's time to wake up now."_

* * *

"Wake up, Ginny. Come on, it's time to wake up now!" 

Harry was shaking her. Ginny opened her eyes to find him hovering over her, looking tousled and worried.

"You were talking in your sleep," he said wonderingly. "You never talk in your sleep!"

Ginny half sat up, pushing her long hair out of her eyes. "What was I saying?"

"You were saying, 'Wait, don't go!' What were you dreaming about?"

"It was. . ." She thought for a minute. Parts of the dream had already evaporated, but the gist of it remained with images still so vivid, almost too vivid to have been a normal dream.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny asked. "When will she be back? Do you know?"

"I. . ." Harry frowned. She could see his confusion and thought she understood it. It was an odd sort of role reversal for them. How many nights had _she_ awakened to find _him_ talking in his sleep or thrashing about in the grip of a nightmare? Never before, however, had he awakened her this way.

"Why do you want to know about Hermione?" he asked.

"Because," said Ginny, "part of the dream was about her."

"It's nothing. . . bad is it?"

"Oh, no," said Ginny. "Quite the opposite in fact. Harry, I think Hermione is pregnant too!"

* * *

_**A/N:** In regard to the age difference between Harry and Ginny's sons, my theory that there is less than two years difference between James and Albus is shared by the HP Lexicon, and by Wikipedia which states: "Although it is possible that he (James) is anything from 12 to 17 years of age at the end of Deathly Hallows, his attitudes suggest that he is not much older than his siblings, and it is implied by Ginny that his first year was one before his brother Albus's." In the case of this story (which coincides with my earlier fic, To Hear the Bells Ring that chronicles the birth of James and is, in fact, kind of a prequel to this story), the Potters' oldest son was born in early December 2004. Ginny and Harry's trip to Rose Cottage takes place in late July 2005. Keeping in mind that it takes nine months to have a baby (I doubt wizards have sped up the process, more's the pity), Albus's birth in the spring of 2006 would make him eleven years old at the time of the Epilogue in September 2017, and would also make him a year behind his brother at Hogwarts._

* * *

**Special Note to Anonymous Reviewers: **In light of my recent rant at an anonymous "flamer," it occurred to me that the many positive, constructive, terrific people who leave anonymous reviews for my stories deserve a little attention too. Therefore, I've decided to start responding to all anonymous reviews (flamers excepted) in the form of A/N's at the end of each chapter.

**Mimosa:** I wanted to start with you because your reviews are so consistent and detailed, and I always look forward to reading whatever you have to say. I'm glad you appreciated my, or rather Harry's, little joke about the English "stiff upper lip." I do realizethat this is an outworn cliché with little basis in actual fact, as I have English friends who have no difficulty expressing themselves. I tend to be a bit of an Anglophile (my Irish ancestors are probably rolling in their graves, but true nevertheless) and while I've never been to England, I know parts of it very well through its literature. Specifically, the Lake District is an area with which I have long felt a haunting familiarity thanks to William Wordsworth, Beatrix Potter (no relation, obviously!) and others. If I ever get to London - another place I yearn to visit - I'll be sure to look for The Rising Sun. Perhaps I'll even see you there. In the meantime, cheers!

**Kim: **I have no plans to disable anonymous reviews. I love receiving feedback from people like you far too much to do that, and hopefully my little "Blue" problem will fade into the woodwork where it belongs. Thank you so much for your reviews. They mean a lot.

**Faith:** My Teddy story became badly stalled in part because of the usual holiday chaos, but also because I started missing Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione who are my absolute favorite people to write about (also George, who is equally fun). I think that when I return to Teddy's story, I'm going to include more interaction between him and the Potter-Weasley clan which I didn't have originally as I was trying to tell his story from a different perspective. We'll see how it goes. Meanwhile, thanks for your comments, and I'm so glad you're enjoying _Great Expectations_.

**Amy:** Thanks for your loyalty to all my stories. I know that, like me, you're a huge Harry/Ginny fan, and I really appreciate your comments and feedback.

**Sunlitdayz14:** Thanks for your kind words. Sorry I made you feel sad about Hermione, but of course you know that it's all going to work out for her. Keep reading. The outlook improves pretty quickly.

**Ann:** Thank you so much. I will try to keep the updates coming as quickly as possible.

**Chicken Child:** Your comment was very flattering and deeply appreciated.

And finally. . .

**Suri:** I did not intend to delete your original review as I didn't really consider it a "flame" either, but yours happened to be placed right behind one of the offensive posts and I'm afraid I hit the Delete button a little too vigorously. I don't mind people disagreeing with me and your comments were not hurtful, though I do object to mindless rants for which this other reviewer seemed to have a particular penchant. Critique away. I'm tough. I can take it!

If I've left anyone out, please accept my apologies. I'll try to do a more thorough job next time. Anyone who submits a signed review, of course, will receive a personal response. Thanks so much to all of you. You're absolutely wonderful and make my efforts feel very worthwhile.


	5. Chapter 5: A Safe Bet

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:** This is **Chapter Four**, not Chapter 5 as the box to the right indicates, but, well, you know the drill. And before anyone comments on it or offers corrections, in my world (SU of course) George Weasley married Katie Bell, Percy married Penelope Clearwater, and Charlie likes women as well as dragons. 'Nuff said!_

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**Chapter Four**

_A Safe Bet_

Ginny was working on her latest column while sipping a cup of weak tea without milk or sugar when the fireplace flared green and Hermione stepped out.

"Hermione!" said Ginny. "When did you get back? I thought you weren't due until tomorrow."

"I came home a day early," Hermione said. "Is Harry here?"

"No, he's at work," Ginny replied. "You can probably catch him at the Ministry, though. I don't think he's on assignment today."

Hermione shook her head. "I wasn't really looking for Harry. I just wanted to make sure he was out of the way. It was you I wanted to see."

"Okay," said Ginny carefully. "Well, here I am."

Hermione didn't say anything, but wrung her hands for a minute or two, which was so uncharacteristic that Ginny almost blurted out the question on the very tip of her tongue. But she refrained, thinking how awful it would be if she was wrong. It had, after all, only been a dream . . .

"Where's little James?" asked Hermione, clearly stalling.

"I just put him down for a nap," Ginny said. "Winky's keeping an eye on him. Hermione, what is it? Is anything wrong?"

"No," said Hermione and unknowingly echoed the words Ginny herself had used just two days earlier. "Quite the opposite in fact. Ginny, I. . . I think I might be pregnant!"

Ginny leapt up with a cry of joy and flung her arms around Hermione before her tummy reminded her that, in her current state of gastronomical distress, sudden movements weren't a very good idea. She clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted from the room, making it to the nearest toilet just in time.

Hermione, who had followed in concern, handed Ginny a damp cloth to wipe her face once she had recovered sufficiently.

"Well," Hermione said, "that wasn't exactly the reaction I was hoping for. . ."

"Oh, no, Hermione, it isn't about you or your news, it's. . . I've been feeling a little under the weather. You see, I'm. . . That is, I'm also. . ." She gestured at Hermione's still slim waistline while rinsing out her mouth.

Hermione's eyes widened. "_You_ are? I mean, you and Harry? But I thought. . ."

"Rose Cottage," Ginny explained simply. "Apparently the magic _was_ strong enough to break through a contraception charm. Either that or one us slipped up in the heat of a moment, which is possible, I suppose. I only found out two days ago."

Hermione peered at Ginny. "You don't seem very . . . well, happy."

Ginny shrugged. "It wasn't the best news, but I'm adjusting, and oh, Hermione, if you are too, it'll be wonderful! Have you told Ron? What did he say?"

Hermione shook her head. "I haven't told him anything. As a matter of fact, I haven't even been home yet. I came straight here from the portkey office. Ginny, I need to have it confirmed, but I can't bear the thought of going to St. Mungo's alone, especially if it turns out not to be. . ."

"I'll be happy to go with you," Ginny said automatically. "We can leave straightaway if you like."

"Are you sure? You're obviously not feeling well. . ."

"Then a hospital is the perfect place for me, isn't it?" said Ginny. "You didn't want Ron to go with you?"

"It's not that he wouldn't have," Hermione explained. "He would, in a heart beat, but he's done it so many times already, and if this turns out to be no more than wishful thinking on my part. . . Well, I won't have to disappoint him again, will I?"

"Hermione," Ginny sighed. "We've been over this. . ."

"I know, but you can't blame me for not wanting to wipe that hopeful look off his face. Honestly, it's like stabbing a teddy bear."

"All right," Ginny said. "Let me just have a quick word with Winky about James, and we'll be off."

There was a queue at St. Mungo's, and while they waited Ginny asked, "What sort of symptoms are you having?"

"I'm 'late,' of course," said Hermione. "And I've been desperately tired. I actually fell asleep during a lecture in Budapest, and such an interesting lecture it was too! It was all about the International Wizarding Tribunal on the 1968 Treatise on Goblin Rights . . ."

Ginny, who didn't think she could keep her own eyes open through Hermione's description, said, "What else?"

"Well, my . . .breasts are a bit tender," Hermione confided, blushing. "I haven't had any morning sickness yet. I suppose that's a bit ominous."

"Not necessarily," said Ginny. "Maybe it just means you're lucky."

Hermione gave a short, humorless laugh. "Lucky is one thing I'm not." She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Ginny, what if it's not true?"

"Then you'll try again," said Ginny. "But Hermione, I really don't think you'll have to, because . . ."

"Because what?"

Ginny hesitated. Aside from the danger of giving Hermione false hope, it all seemed so. . . strange. "You'll think I'm mental."

"No, I won't. What is it?"

Ginny took a deep breath and told Hermione about her dream. "Well, go on, say it," she said once she had finished. "You think I'm a nutter, don't you?"

Hermione didn't answer right away, but she didn't look as though she thought Ginny was a nutter. "Did you tell Harry about any of this?"

"No," said Ginny. "Only that someone had told me in a dream to congratulate you and I took it to mean you were pregnant. But I didn't say anything about the rest."

"Why not?"

"Odd dreams make him nervous," said Ginny. "I suppose that makes sense, given his history. But it's also because . . . well, because it was Remus and Tonks."

Hermione nodded, understanding. No one had ever been able to talk Harry out of his overburdened conscience. Even now, seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, thoughts of Remus, Tonks, Fred, and all the other fallen brought on nightmares. More nights than she cared to count, Ginny had awakened to find Harry trembling, drenched in sweat, calling out the names of those he believed he should have saved. Time had brought some surcease. The dreams came less frequently now, but Ginny knew how much these ghosts still haunted him and tried to avoid mentioning those whose memories lashed him with guilt.

"There's one more thing, Hermione," Ginny said. "And this is something I don't think I can avoid telling Harry about. My Patronus has changed."

"What?" said Hermione. "When?"

"I thought at first it was part of the dream," Ginny said. "But after Harry left for work the next day, I cast the charm for real and . . . Hermione, it's a doe. Just like Harry's mother."

"And Snape," Hermione reminded her.

Ginny's eyes widened. "I forgot about Snape. What do you think it . . ."

But just at that moment, the receptionist called out, "Mrs. Granger-Weasley, the healer will see you now."

"Good luck!" Ginny called as Hermione made her way to an examination room. She tried to read a magazine while she waited. There were several back issues of _Witch Weekly_ and even a few copies of the _Quibbler_ available, but Ginny found herself unable to concentrate. Why had her Patronus changed? There was something vaguely disquieting about that, especially in light of the reminder Hermione had provided. At first she had accepted the explanation Tonks offered in the dream, that all her happy memories were now tied up in one person. But she also remembered what Lupin had said over Christmas lunch at the Burrow all those years ago about Patronuses changing after someone had suffered a great shock or emotional upheaval. Was that the reason hers had changed and did it have anything to do with the child she now carried in her womb?

But that couldn't be it, Ginny thought. Granted, she hadn't been thrilled with the news, but would she really go so far as to call it an 'emotional upheaval?' Her mind wandered back to that morning when she'd stripped off for a shower and caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Her breasts were definitely swollen and below her navel there was already the faintest globe of fullness. Seeing the tight-muscled body she had only just gotten back after giving birth to James, and thinking how it was about to be stretched out again, Ginny hadn't been able to help feeling resentful. She didn't want to turn into Molly, having baby after baby like so many litters of kittens. Ginny loved her mother, but Mum was Mum and she was herself, and the twain, as far as she was concerned, would never meet.

But she felt better about things now than she had two days ago, and if Hermione was pregnant too, it really would make all the difference. Ginny wasn't sure why this thought comforted her, but it all seemed connected to the dream and to the magic of Rose Cottage. If Hermione was pregnant, then her own pregnancy would feel like so much more than a carelessly cast contraception charm. It would have meaning then, and not be just another random twist of fate, like so much else that had already occurred in their relatively young lives.

It seemed to take a long time for Hermione to re-emerge, but when she did, one look at her face told Ginny everything she wanted to know.

"It's true," Hermione said in a voice filled with wonder. "Oh, God, Ginny. I'm going to have a baby!"

They stared at each other for a full minute before Ginny released a full-throated shriek that caused the receptionist, and all the others who were waiting their turns to see a healer, start up in surprise. The two women hugged each other so tightly they both seemed in danger of suffocation.

"I can't believe it," Hermione said.

"I can," said Ginny. "And may I be the first to welcome you to the club!"

"I'm going to be a mum!" said Hermione. "Oh, I think I'd better sit down. I'm feeling a bit shaky all of a sudden."

Ginny regarded her with a practiced eye. "I don't suppose you ate anything this morning. Too nervous I expect. Well, come on then. This certainly calls for a celebration, and I think my own tummy has calmed down enough to handle tea and biscuits."

They went to the hospital tea shop, since it was closest, and settled down with tea and plain biscuits which Ginny nibbled cautiously but hungrily, having thrown up her own breakfast, and Hermione crumbled into a pile on her plate, being still far too keyed up to eat anything.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" asked Ginny.

"I don't care, really," Hermione said. "Just as long as it's healthy. I know that's what you're supposed to say, but honestly, it doesn't matter to me. What about you? Do you have a preference?"

"Well, we already have a boy, so a girl would be nice," Ginny replied. "But either way is fine. Like you said, as long as it's healthy. When do you plan to tell Ron?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, my goodness! In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about Ron."

"The rest of us do it all the time," Ginny assured her. "How are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know. What do you think I should say?"

"How about, 'Ron, we're having a baby.' Then do a quick Cushioning charm before he hits the floor."

"He won't faint," Hermione said.

"He will," Ginny predicted. "He'll be thrilled, but all the same. . ."

"You know, Ginny, sometimes I think you have a very wrong impression of your brother. He's a lot more stalwart than you give him credit for."

"Yeah, right," Ginny sneered. "Is it okay if I tell Harry?"

"Yes, I think so," Hermione said. "But don't say anything to the rest of the family. I think Ron and I should tell them together. We're all supposed to meet up at the Burrow for dinner next Sunday. Perhaps we could make it a joint announcement with you and Harry. You haven't told anyone yet, have you?"

"No," said Ginny. "But there won't be time for an announcement because Mum will know the minute she sees us."

"What do you mean she'll know? She couldn't know just by looking."

"It's this weird sixth sense of hers," Ginny explained. "Of course she also used to claim that she could tell if any of us were misbehaving just by looking, and I stopped believing _that_ one after Harry and I. . . Although come to think of it, she did look at me a bit funny when. . . Well, never mind. The point is, she'll take one look at both of us and know immediately. Trust me."

Hermione looked skeptical, but gave in without a fuss. "I still need to tell Ron. Maybe I should go over to the joke shop and surprise him. What do you think?"

"No time like the present," said Ginny. "Would you mind terribly if I tagged along? I don't have to be there for the actual telling, but it _would_ be priceless if he passed out in a shop full of customers."

"He _isn't _going to pass out."

"A hundred galleons says he will."

"Ten galleons," said Hermione. "And he won't! I think I know my own husband, Ginny."

"If you say so," said Ginny with a roll of her eyes. "Can I come then?"

"Well, I suppose you've earned the right after holding my hand all morning. Besides, I could use the moral support. Look at me, I'm all aflutter! I'm so nervous about telling him, I'm actually shaking."

"Then we'd better get on with it before _you_ pass out," Ginny said.

They Apparated to Diagon Alley, but Hermione hesitated outside of the joke shop. "It all feels so surreal," she said. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up any minute and find it's all been a dream."

"You're not dreaming," Ginny assured her. "You're wide awake and you're about to tell my brother that, for once in his life, he's done something right. Come on, let's go."

She gave Hermione a little shove and they both moved. The usual chaos met them inside. George's wife Katie was behind the counter ringing up purchases and George was helping customers, but there was no sign of Ron.

"I'll try to get Ron off by himself," Hermione murmured mere inches from Ginny's ear. "That is, if we can find him. Don't say anything to George, remember. Or Katie either."

"Mum's the word," Ginny whispered back. "In this case, literally."

"_Stop_ that! You're making me nervous again."

"Sorry," said Ginny. "I'll behave, I promise."

George finally noticed them and waded through a sea of customers to greet them. "Ginny!" he said. "And Hermione, too! I thought you weren't due back until tomorrow."

"I came back early," said Hermione. "Is Ron around?"

"Up in his office, I think," George said.

"Wonderful," said Hermione. "See you in a bit."

She left to go find Ron. Katie joined George beside Ginny, who began examining merchandise on one of the shelves while keeping her face carefully bland and ignoring the questioning looks her brother and sister-in-law kept darting at her.

"Is everything all right?" asked Katie when Ginny failed to elucidate.

"Everything's great," said Ginny, gradually maneuvering herself until she was directly below the place where she knew Ron's office was located.

It was difficult to hear much over the excited shoppers, but Ginny kept her ears tuned. After a minute, the sound of a clear, resounding thud from overhead made everyone look up. A grin spread across Ginny's face, and she beamed at George and Katie who were still regarding her curiously.

"Everything's just grand," she said. "Ten galleons to me!"

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_**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but I started taking it in an entirely different direction before realizing that it was getting far too angsty. Not that there won't be a little angst at some point (Harry being Harry, of course there will be angst) but I am trying to keep things fairly light. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far, and please keep them coming as I always feel compelled to write faster when I have a lot of reviewers begging for updates. Anyone who submits a signed review will, of course, receive a personal response. Notes to anonymous reviewers from the last chapter are listed below._

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**Mimosa:** Yes, poor little James was all confused, but as a mother myself, I know there are times when even the best of mums lose it. Having kids so close together is hell on the body well as the nerves, but Ginny will adjust, as mothers do. Her Patronus change has been touched on a little more in this chapter (there's a hint that you'll likely catch if you read between the lines) but the full explanation won't be revealed for awhile. As for why Remus and Tonks as opposed to, say, Lily and James: Ginny never met Lily and James, but she _did_ know Remus and Tonks, and since this story is largely told from her POV, it makes a difference. Remus was her teacher, of course, and I think she may have gotten to know Tonks fairly well when the Weasleys lived at OotP headquarters (Book 5) as well as later when Tonks spent a lot of time at the Burrow, crying on Molly's shoulder after Remus left her to commune with werewolves. You will likely see more Dialogues with the Dead before this story ends, and it all has to do with the child Ginny is carrying. Again, more later. Stay tuned.

**Ann:** I'm glad you liked the dream sequence. The response to that was a real mixed bag. Some people loved it and thought it explained a great deal. Others found it confusing and had loads of questions. Since you're one of the fans, you should be pleased to know there will be more such sequences in future chapters, though not necessarily a return appearance by Remus and Tonks.

**Amy:** I found your email address and sent a personal response to your review. If you didn't receive it, please let me know and I will include it with my next chapter.

**Jacqueline:** You mentioned that it would "make your day" to see Hermione pregnant. Your day is made. Enjoy!

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW:** I don't mind anonymous reviews. I only object to anonymous flamers, but your review was nothing of the sort. In fact, it was delightful, so thank you!

**Lofty:** I have considered writing a story about Harry and Ginny's wedding, but haven't gotten to it yet. In the meantime, however, there is an excellent story by a wonderful author who calls herself Bad Mum about several weddings, Harry & Ginny's included, all told from the POV of 10-year-old Victoire Weasley. It's called "Weasley Weddings" and it's a complete delight (I tried to include a link, but the site won't permit that. I do I urge you to check it out, though).

**Faith:** I, too, was devastated when Remus was killed in the last book as he was one of my favorite characters outside of the Trio-plus-Ginny-plus-all-the-Weasleys. I'm glad you liked the dream sequence and Ginny's rant. That Weasley temper of hers! Harry obviously knows how to deal with it, but he's got plenty of quirks of his own, so it all evens out with them.

**Kim:** You're welcome!


	6. Chapter 6: Pregnant Pause

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ Yep, that's right, __**Chapter Five**__, not 6 (ignore that little box to the right). Thanks so much to everyone for all your support and encouragement, and please keep those reviews coming. They always do my heart good and my motivation one better. _

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**Chapter Five**

_Pregnant Pause_

Ron and Hermione reached the Apparition point outside the Burrow seconds behind Harry and Ginny, and watched as Ginny unpacked the neat-looking bag she carried while Harry soothed James, who clearly did not appreciate the sensation of side-along Apparition. The bag looked far too small to hold a collection of blankets, bottles, nappies, rompers, extra shirts, toys, and a large pram, but that's what she pulled out of there with an efficiency that impressed her brother.

"That's a lot of gear," Ron commented. "Do you really need all that?"

"Get used to it," said Harry, who was helping Ginny set up the pram one-handed, the other being encumbered with the baby. "This is what your life will look like pretty soon."

Seeing Harry's attempts to juggle everything, Ron reached out for James. "I'll take him, Harry."

Ginny made a convulsive movement as Harry passed James to his uncle. "Oh, I don't know. . ."

"Come on, Ginny," said Ron. "When was the last time I actually _dropped_ a baby? And even then I didn't drop it very far!"

"Don't worry, Ginny, I'll make sure James comes to no harm," Hermione promised. "After all, Ron needs the practice."

Ginny looked as though she didn't care much for the idea of Ron practicing on her child, but she shouldered the nearly empty bag while Harry pushed the now loaded pram, and the five of them made their way toward the house, thankfully without mishaps.

Molly met them at the door. She'd no sooner snatched the baby out of Ron's arms when she looked at Hermione and said, "You're pregnant!" Then her eyes snapped to Ginny. "And so are you!"

"Told you," Ginny murmured to Hermione, who looked a bit startled.

"Way to steal our thunder, Mum," Ron grumbled. "We wanted to make an announcement!"

"Nothing's stopping you, is there?" said Bill, who had just entered from the sitting room with Fleur and their three children, five-year-old Victoire and two-year-old twins, Romulus and Remus whom everyone called Romy and Remy. "Did I hear right? Is Ickle Ronniekins going to be a dad?"

"It's true," admitted Ron, puffing out his chest and placing an arm around Hermione who blushed very prettily even as she rolled her eyes at her husband.

Arthur, who had come in just behind Bill and was trailed by George, Katie, and two-year-old Fred, said, "Why, this is marvelous news!"

"What's marvelous?" asked George, whose missing ear caused him to lose part of the conversation.

"Ron and Hermione," said Arthur. "They're having a baby!"

"Well, you kept that dark," said George, looking Ron up and down. "How long have you known?"

"A few days," said Ron. "Believe me, it's been hard keeping it a secret, but Hermione wanted to tell everyone together."

"Harry and Ginny are having a baby, too," Molly informed them.

"Well, sure." George pointed to James, who had a fistful of his grandmother's hair in one hand and was attempting to get her necklace into his mouth with the other, as if Molly could not somehow see him. "They already have a baby, Mum. He's right there."

"No, dear, I mean they're having another one," Molly said, trying to extract her hair from James's firmly clamped little fist.

"Another one what?" asked Percy, who had just arrived with his heavily pregnant wife Penelope, and their three children, Prewett, Priscilla, and Prescott.

"Ron and Hermione are expecting a baby," Molly explained for what felt like the umpteenth time. "And Ginny and Harry are expecting another. Isn't that wonderful?"

Ginny's brothers looked as though they didn't think it was wonderful at all. "Oh, dear," said Percy with a worried frown.

"Again?" George said to his sister.

"Bit soon, isn't it?" said Bill, scowling at Harry, who was making a great show of tucking everything more securely into the pram.

"Oh, give it up, you lot. They're married, remember?" Katie reminded the brothers, who had never quite adjusted to the idea of their little sister sharing a bed with a man, even if he was "The Chosen One," not to mention her husband. Normally Ron wasn't much better, but in light of his present circumstances he, at least, was keeping his scowls and opinions to himself.

"Hey, isn't it great about Ron and Hermione?" Harry said. "They're having a baby!"

"That _is_ great," Percy admitted. "Congratulations."

"Yeah," conceded George. "Congratulations, you two. Well, you four, I suppose."

"_Absolument_!" said Fleur, hugging Hermione and Ginny, and kissing Ron and Harry on both cheeks, which made them blush. "As Maman Weasley says, eet eez wonderful!"

After more hugs and congratulations, Arthur took the men into the sitting room to make what would undoubtedly be the first of many toasts to the new additions. The women, meanwhile, congregated in the kitchen with all the children underfoot, though little Victoire donned an oversized apron and helped her grandmother make a salad by tearing up lettuce, most of which ended up on the floor.

"Can you _believe_ those idiots?" Ginny said as she spooned cereal into James. "They acted the same way when they found out I was pregnant with James. Yet they're slapping Ron on the back like he's some kind of bloody hero!"

"You're their sister, Ginny," said Penelope from the chair into which she had eased herself and her swollen belly, neither of which appeared likely to move anytime soon. "They feel protective of you, that's all."

"What exactly are they protecting me from?" demanded Ginny. "Harry and I have been married for four years. Did they honestly expect us to live together in pristine chastity?"

"This whole virginal baby sister fantasy _is_ a bit wearing," Katie agreed. "And it does makes me wonder how they regard the rest of us. After all, there's Penny, looking ready to pop, and they just found out Hermione is in the same condition. They certainly didn't act as though she's too 'pure' to be sullied."

"Who do they think we are?" asked Hermione, slicing carrots into a saucepan with unnecessary violence. "Tarts they picked up off the streets and impregnated for the fun of it?"

"I like tarts!" Victoire piped up. "Maman and me made some last week. They were strawberry. What's 'pregnated?"

All the women froze, looking horrified, save for Fleur who merely looked amused. "And we will make tarts again soon, chéri," she promised. "But for now, take your bruzzers and go to your papa. 'E ees lonely, I am zinking."

"You know, Fleur, that's a fair point," said Katie. "Why are we doing all the cooking _and_ minding all the children? Right, then! I think it's time they started pulling their weight."

Picking young Fred up off the floor where he was banging on a pot with a spoon, Katie marched into the sitting room and dumped her son unceremoniously on his father's lap. George was still blinking in surprise when Ginny came in with James whom she deposited with Harry. Since Penelope was still struggling to get out of her chair, Hermione took Prewett, Priscilla and Prescott to Percy, while Victoire, clutching her little brothers' hands, made a beeline for Bill.

"What did we do?" asked Ron after the women had disappeared into the kitchen after a chorus of fierce glares.

"There doesn't always have to be a reason," Bill said sagely. "And even if there is, it's often better not to know."

"You've got that right," agreed George, setting Fred on the floor with his pot and spoon where he continued to bang away, while Romy and Remy varied the percussion with a frying pan and muffin tin respectively. "Katie's always got her knickers in a knot about something and I never know what the hell it's all about. Fortunately, it's easy to tune her out with just one ear."

"I'm in trouble with Penelope fifty percent of the time," Percy said reflectively. "I know why less than ten percent of the time."

"They're worse when they're hormonal," said Harry, making colored smoke come out of his wand for James to try to catch in his tiny hands. "When Ginny was pregnant with James, she got annoyed with me because my hair wouldn't lie flat. My hair _never_ lies flat!"

"That's nothing," scoffed George. "Katie yelled at me for breathing too loud when she was pregnant with Fred. What was I supposed to do, stop breathing?"

"I've got you both beat," Bill said, as he helped Victoire untangle a set of doll's robes which she had, for some reason, braided into a rope. "You know Fleur is part Veela, right? Well, do you remember the World Quidditch Final, when those Veela got angry and turned into bird-like creatures with long beaks and claws?"

Percy, who was setting up a board game called _Wizard Wangles_ for his older children while trying to prevent the youngest from shredding that day's _Daily Prophet_, looked up tremulously. "You mean. . . When Fleur was pregnant, she. . ."

"Actually, that would have been a pleasant change," said Bill. "What she turned into was pure, unadulterated evil!"

"Was Mum like that?" Ron asked his father. It was obvious Ron was having second thoughts about this whole pregnancy business, though it was equally obvious that it was a bit late to do anything about it.

"Well, you know your mother," said Arthur with a reminiscent smile. "She always had a temper." He pulled his robes above his knees and displayed a small, vertical scar on his shin. "That was when she was pregnant with Charlie." Then he pointed to a slight indentation on his nearly bald pate. "_That_ one was the twins."

Ron stared, aghast, and downed the last of his Firewhiskey in one before holding out his glass for a refill.

* * *

"It's probably none of my business," Molly said as she directed her wand to slicing bread for dinner. "But I've picked up hints in Charlie's letters. You know that Romanian girl he's been going out with, Olga? Well, I think they're. . ." She lowered her voice to a whisper. _". . .shacked up!_" 

Ginny and her sisters-in-law exchanged looks and turned away to hide their smiles. It was common knowledge that Charlie and Olga had been living together for more than a year, though Molly was the only one who seemed to mind. Ginny thought Charlie was a bit of an idiot to let their mother find out, as she was sure to keep after them now until they were properly married.

"As I say, it's none of my business," Molly went on. "Only I did think I raised my children better than that."

"Charlie has a good head on his shoulders," Hermione said, undoubtedly recalling the fact that she and Ron had lived together before marriage, which everyone also knew, though they'd managed to keep it hidden from Ron's mother. "And Olga seems like such a lovely girl. I'm sure they know what they're doing, Molly."

"I hope so," Molly sighed. "You'll find out with that little one of yours, Hermione: when children are young they step on your toes, and when they grow up they step on your heart."

"Oh, I don't know, Mum," said Ginny. "I don't think we turned out too badly, all things considered."

"Of course not, dear," Molly said, laying a hand on her daughter's cheek. "I really do have very little cause for complaint. I'm very proud of all my children, and all their lovely wives, and all my beautiful grandchildren." She smiled at her daughters-in-law, then noticed Ginny's raised eyebrows. "Oh, and Harry too, of course. I sometimes forget I have a son-in-law, because he seems so much more like my own son."

Ginny grimaced. The smell of food was making her nauseous. "Mum, you do realize that's disgusting, don't you? That would make Harry my broth. . ." She broke off with a slight gasp.

Molly, who had heard the gasp, frowned. "Are you all right, Ginny?"

Ginny gave a brief nod. The nausea was rising and she didn't trust herself to open her mouth. Molly gave her another piercing look before turning to Penelope. "How are you feeling, dear? Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable?"

"Thank you, Molly, but at this stage, nothing would make me comfortable," Penelope replied, sighing. "Just three more weeks to go, thank Merlin. And I don't care what Percy says, this truly is the last one."

"Does he want more?" asked Hermione, to whom four children seemed more than adequate.

"What you have to understand about Percy is that he's very competitive," Penelope explained. "Bill has three children, so of course Percy wanted four. But now he's afraid one of the others will start reproducing like mad and we'll be left short, so he's been hinting that we should keep going." She snorted. "Chance would be a fine thing!"

"No worries 'ere," Fleur assured her. "After ze twins, zat was enough!"

"George and I might have one or two more," said Katie. "But I doubt we'll give you any competition, Penny. Ginny and Harry seem well on their way, though."

Katie smiled at Ginny, who managed to smile back, but only just. She was really feeling ill now and was debating whether or not to make a dash for the bathroom, but didn't feel quite up to moving. Maybe if she just sat here quietly for a few minutes. . .

"I don't think Ron and I will be challenging anyone for the championship either," Hermione commented. "We had enough trouble getting this one started."

"Ze first child ees vairy special," said Fleur. "With Victoire eet was _extraordinaire_."

"It still feels like a miracle to me," said Hermione with a glowing smile. "I've been lucky so far. No morning sickness at all. I actually feel really well."

"You wait," Katie warned her. "It's not all fairy-lights and moonbeams, you know."

"No, indeed," Penelope said, placing a hand on her aching back.

"But zere are compensations," said Fleur with a suggestive twinkle in her eyes. "Ze middle stage. . ."

"Oh, yes," Katie said. "I remember that." Penelope said nothing, but offered a tired smile as though she, too, was in on the secret.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

"Eet ees ze 'ormones," Fleur said.

"'Ormones?" said Hermione confusedly.

"Hormones," Katie explained. "It makes you feel. . . Well, let me put it this way. George didn't get a lot of sleep during my fifth and sixth months. _Not _that he was complaining."

"You may as well enjoy it while it lasts," Penelope advised. "Because believe me, the time will come when sex will be the very last thing on your mind."

Hermione looked around to see how her mother-in-law was reacting to the rather ribald turn the conversation had taken. But Molly wasn't even listening. She was watching Ginny, who had attained an alarming pallor.

"Ginny, dear," Molly said in a voice of unnatural calm. "I think you ought to lie down."

"Ginny?" said Hermione. "What's wrong?"

"I don't . . ." Ginny said through gritted teeth. "I. . . I'm just . . ."

Hermione rushed to the door of the sitting room. "Harry, I think you should come in here!"

Hearing the alarm in Hermione's voice, Harry reached the kitchen in a few strides. He knelt beside Ginny's chair. "Ginny? Sweetheart, what is it?"

The room was spinning. Harry looked frightened, but his face was out of focus. She caught a glimpse of her father, who had come into the kitchen carrying James, and her brothers with their wives and children were all clustered around her. Molly was on her right and seemed to be saying something, asking questions. But Harry was on her other side and it was toward him that Ginny fell as she toppled, senseless, into his arms.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Duh, duh, DUH! Well, here we go with the angst. You knew it was coming, right? The full flow of this story finally came through over the past couple of days )(I always know in advance where a story is going, but don't always have a very clear idea how it's going to get there; in the case of this story, now I do). Although I fully intend to include many more lighthearted moments, things are also going to get fairly serious from here on. I have, accordingly, changed the category from Romance/Humor to Romance/Family, but not to worry, as there will still be plenty of laughs to get you through it._

* * *

Notes to Anonymous Reviewers

**Mimosa:** Don't know if _'Nuff_ is proper English, but it's common Americanese, which is to say it isn't proper at all (being American, I can say that without causing offense, hopefully). I do think there is a rather teddy-bearish quality about Ron. Aren't there times you'd just like to squeeze the stuffing out of him? (I know I would!) I wasn't sure about the whole fainting episode as it felt a bit clichéd, but I loved Ginny and Hermione's bet too much to let it go. I don't think the "mental" expression is exclusively Ron's, though he's certainly the most frequent user. Harry uses it in the books a few times, as do the Weasley twins (I think), so I figure Ginny could have picked it up from one of them, or from Ron for that matter. You guessed right on Rose Cottage. As for the Patronus, let's just say that I don't want to reveal too much lest I spoil the ending. I'm glad I cracked you up. Hope you got a laugh or two from this chapter as well.

**Amy: **Sorry that message didn't go through. Yes, it was a pretty sure bet for Ginny. She knows her brother. Re: your earlier review, I'm curious as to why this subject matter is so difficult, but I'm guessing it has something to do with your own experience. I've been in a similar place with friends and family, so I know a bit about where you're coming from. As for the ages of the Potter kids, a lot of reviewers argued with me about James and Albus, despite the Lexicon/Wikipedia claims, but since this is an SU story, it probably doesn't matter anyway. If it makes you feel any better, in my world, Lily _is_ two years younger than Albus and, in fact, is Harry and Ginny's only "planned" baby (they did say they wanted to try that sometime). I may touch briefly on Lily near the end of this story. We'll see.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story and appreciate your kind words. Hope you can still say so after the next few chapters.

**ChickenChild: **I'm glad you enjoyed the dream sequence. You'll see more of these in future chapters. I miss Remus & Tonks too. I wasn't sure I could write them, mostly because other writers (Lady Bracknell, for one) do it so very well that I felt a little intimidated about the attempt. But they came fairly easily, especially Tonks. I've been trying to write about their son, Teddy, so that was actually quite encouraging.

**Hghghghghghg:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I will certainly try to keep it up.

**Jacqueline: **I'm glad I made your day. Some of the things coming up may unmake it, but rest assured that I'm a big believer in happy endings. Thanks for your praise!

**Sara:** Yes, you've caught the symbolism of Rose Cottage. That much, at least, I can confirm. Thanks for your kind words.

**sara:** Thanks so much. I enjoy a good PBJ myself.


	7. Chapter 7: Life Challenged

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the cliffie to end the last chapter (Oh, who am I kidding? Anyone who's read The Letter knows that cliffhangers are sort of a 'trademark' with me). Anyway, now I can put you out of your misery. . . temporarily at least. (Heh, heh!) This one might make you a little weepy, especially if you're a huge Gred and Forge fan, like me._

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Life Challenged_

Ginny woke in her old bedroom at the Burrow. The sun was shining through the window, and when she opened her eyes she saw her old Weird Sisters poster across the room. Funny that Mum never removed that, Ginny thought, because she always hated that one. But there it was, directly across from her old Holyhead Harpies poster. But that couldn't be right. Ginny herself had gotten rid of that poster, substituting one of herself with her teammates shortly after she signed on with the Harpies. Come to that, there was something strange about all of this. Molly had redecorated the entire room ages ago. It hadn't looked this way since her sixth year at Hogwarts. Before the Battle. Before. . .

"Puking Pastilles _and_ Fainting Fancies?" said a voice very close by. "If I didn't know better, little sister, I'd swear you've been raiding the joke shop stores."

Ginny sat bolt upright. She wasn't alone. Sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, grinning at her in puckish delight, was. . . George. But George had only one ear and this one had . . . Oh, for heaven's _sake_! What sort of prank was George pulling? Did he really think this was funny? Was he so incredibly infantile that he thought she'd fall for a stupid stunt like this? But the way he was looking at her made Ginny's heart pause, for there was only one person who had ever looked at her in exactly that way. It wasn't possible, though. It couldn't possibly be. . .

It _couldn't _be!

"Fred?"

The grin broadened. "Right in one."

"But you're. . . you're. . . Oh, Fred!"

Tears sprang to her eyes, and with a cry of joy Ginny leapt up, arms spread wide to fling them around her lost brother. But something stopped her, an invisible barrier of some sort, and she sat back, disappointed. Not just disappointed. That was far too mild a word. _Crushed_, was more like it.

"Ah," said Fred cautiously. "I don't think you can do that."

"But why?" Ginny demanded. "Why are you here? _How_ can you be here?"

Or perhaps the proper question was how _she_ came to be here. The last thing she remembered was losing consciousness. Vague, hazy impressions of Harry, white-faced and terrified, carrying her out of the Burrow and Apparating with her to St. Mungo's. The healers' hands, cool and competent, performing an examination. Low voices murmuring: _". . .loss of blood. . .threatened miscarriage. . ."_ She'd been given a blood-replenishing potion and another to stop the contractions that tried to expel the fetus from her womb. And then she had fallen into a deep sleep and awakened. . . Back at the Burrow?

"The baby is alive," Fred told her in response to the question that had just formed in her mind. "So are you, for that matter."

"How do you know? And how did you know what I was thinking?"

"It's one of the advantages of being what I call 'life-challenged,'" Fred explained. "We don't need actual words to communicate here."

"Where is 'here?'" Ginny asked. "Where are we?"

"Wherever you want us to be," Fred replied. "You just suffered a traumatic experience and you've come to a place of comfort and safety. It's a way of coping, I suppose."

"I'm dreaming again, aren't I?" Ginny surmised. "Or are you a ghost?"

"Do I look like a ghost?"

He didn't, Ginny decided. He wasn't pearly or transparent. He looked quite solid. In fact, he looked normal. Except there wasn't anything normal about having a conversation with a brother who had been dead for more than seven years.

"Oh, Fred," Ginny said mournfully. "I've missed you so! We all have, so much! Why did you leave us? Why did you go away?"

"Well, I didn't do it on purpose!" Fred replied defensively. "If I had, I certainly would have planned it better. One minute I'm joking with Percy. Percy, of all people! Talk about irony. The next thing I know, a wall lands on top of me. Not exactly the glorious exit I would have chosen. Besides, I didn't leave you. I'm still here."

"But. . ." Ginny said, gesturing helplessly. "You're dead!"

"There is that," Fred acknowledged. "But only my body died. My body wasn't me. It had nothing to do with who I was or even who I am now. It's like. . . Well, it's like that old Ford Anglia Dad used to have. Remember how he bewitched it to fly? We got around in it for awhile and a very handy thing it was to have, too. But when the flaming contraption decided to take off and go run wild through the Forbidden Forest, we didn't stop existing just because we couldn't use it any more. I'm still here, Ginny. I never left."

"Then where have you _been_?" Ginny asked. "Why haven't any of us been able to see or talk to you?"

"Well, that's your own fault," Fred informed her. "All that weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth! Bit boring, really. Don't get me wrong, it was all very flattering, but it does get tedious, listening to all those tributes. After awhile you start to wonder how sincere they really are, you know? Take that memorial a few months back. The least you lot could have done was slip a firework under somebody's chair or drop a Ton-Tongue Toffee or two in amongst the refreshments. If you really wanted to keep my memory alive, _that _would have been a memorial worth remembering!"

Ginny thought back to the event they had all attended to mark the seventh anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It had been notable for its formality and solemnity, and she recalled thinking how much Fred would have hated it. Fred, she thought, would have been working out ways to liven things up or even disrupt the proceedings, and when, at one point she caught George's eye, she'd had the distinct impression he was thinking the exact same thing. But George had done nothing to liven things up himself. He'd simply sat there looking lost and sad, a look that had come and gone over the years, though it had been far less prevalent since his marriage to Katie. There were still times, though, when he would go off by himself and return looking drained and rather helpless. There was no laughter in him at such times and no one seemed able to reach him, even Katie, who had done more than anyone to dredge him out of the dangerous depression into which he had fallen after the death of his twin. These episodes occurred less frequently now, especially since the birth of little Fred, but they still occurred and it was an ongoing source of concern for the entire family.

"If you're still here," Ginny said, "then why haven't you let George know? He needs you so much, Fred. You have no idea. . ."

"You think I haven't tried?" Fred asked. "Is it my fault he's too thick to realize it whenever I try getting through to him? He keeps telling himself he's imagining things, but that's bollocks and he knows it. He never had that much imagination, and he bloody well knows that, too. But I've been there for him, Ginny. I've been there for all of you. I was there the day you married Harry. Who do you think was responsible for Auntie Muriel taking a header into the wedding cake? The way she looked with all those cherries and bits of marzipan dangling off that ridiculous hat of hers . . ."

"That was _you_?" Ginny said indignantly as Fred rocked back and forth with laughter. "Fred, you nearly ruined our reception!"

"Bollocks to that, too," Fred replied, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "It made everybody laugh, didn't it? Besides, you still had the groom's cake. At least that one was chocolate. The other was fruitcake, and who even likes fruitcake?"

Ginny shook her head. "Apparently, death hasn't matured you."

"Why should it? I'm the same as I ever was. I'm just a little . . ."

"Life-challenged," said Ginny.

"Well, yes," Fred said. "Listen, Ginny, you have to let George know it's time he turned over my share of the joke shop to Ron. It's not like I'm coming back for it, and it's rubbish that Ron's still working there on a salary. If it wasn't for him, the whole thing would have gone under while George was going through that whole sackcloth and ashes bit, and Ron is a big part of the reason the business is doing so well now. Some of the marketing ideas he's come up with are pure genius, though I have to admit, that surprised the hell out of me. Whoever would have thought Ickle Ronnie would turn out to be a brilliant business strategist? But he's bloody well earned a partnership and he deserves it, especially now Hermione is expecting a baby. They'll be wanting to move out of that flat of theirs and get a house. She'll never earn much as a Ministry hack, but as a partner he'll be able to afford it."

"How am I supposed to convince George to do that?" Ginny said. "How am I supposed to convince anyone I've actually spoken to you? To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely convinced myself. For all I know, you're a figment of my imagination, or a side-effect of whatever potions they're giving me."

Fred looked insulted. "You think I'm a _side-effect_?"

"Are you?" Ginny said. "I honestly don't know. This is the second dream I've had like this. The first was with Remus and Tonks . . ."

"I know," said Fred. "They told me."

Oh, this was unreal! "They _told_ you?"

"Sure, why not? We talk all the time. As a matter of fact, Remus, Sirius, and Harry's dad made me a Marauder. There was a vacancy, you know, after that little git, Wormtail, turned out to be such a lying sneak. So I'm a Marauder now. How cool is that?"

"You. . . you've met Harry's dad?"

"Of course I have. His mum, too. _Quite_ a looker, that one! If she wasn't married. . . and she wasn't Harry's mum. . . and I wasn't dead, of course." Fred sighed. "It has its limitations."

"Fred," Ginny said weakly, "I don't understand this. If, as you say, you've been here all along, then why can I suddenly see and hear you? Why could I see and hear Remus and Tonks, if that's who they were? Or if you're who you are? Or if all of you. . . Oh, I don't even know what I'm saying!"

"I don't know that I can explain it, Gin," said Fred. "All I know is that it has to do with the baby that's, um, inside you. It's something called a 'placental transference' . . . Well, it's complicated and I don't really understand it, but I'm sure someone will explain it to you eventually."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Eventually? You mean this is going to happen _again_?"

Unlike Ginny, Fred appeared supremely unconcerned by the possibility. "Is that a problem?"

"Yes, it bloody well is! I'm seeing dead friends and relatives in my dreams, or inside my head, or wherever the hell this is going on, and everyone keeps telling me there's something weird about this baby which, incidentally, my body seems to be trying to reject. What am I supposed to make of all this? What exactly am I supposed to do with this information?"

"Afraid I can't help you there," Fred replied. "It's like I said, someone'll explain it sooner or later. Listen, before I go, there's one more thing I need to tell you. . ."

"You're leaving? But you can't! Not yet! How am I supposed to convince George to make Ron a partner? He'll never believe. . ."

"Okay, make that _two_ things," Fred qualified. "Ask George if he remembers what I said to that Muggle girl we met in Cornwall. See if the word 'callipygian' means anything to him."

"Calli. . .what?" Fred spelled the word and pronounced it carefully. "What does it mean?" Ginny asked.

"George will know," Fred replied. "One more thing, Gin, and it's about Harry, so listen up. . ."

"Harry? Is there something wrong with Harry?"

"Oh, keep your knickers on. Although, apparently, since you keep getting pregnant. . ." He gave her the same scowl she knew so well from her other brothers. Ginny rolled her eyes skyward. Even _dead_ her brothers were overprotective! She gave Fred a look that usually preceded a Bat Bogey Hex.

"Well, okay then, let's not go there," Fred said. "Ginny, you need to tell Harry to let go of the guilt. It wasn't his fault. None of it was."

Ginny sighed. "Don't you think I've tried? We've all tried, but he can't get past the idea that he was responsible. He believes you wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for him, and if he'd turned himself over to Voldemort sooner. . ."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Fred said. "Ginny, I would have walked through fire for Harry. We all would have. But he wasn't the reason we fought and he sure as hell wasn't the reason any of us died. Tell him that for me, will you?"

"I will," Ginny said, feeling tears form in her eyes again. "I will, Fred."

"And would you tell George. . . Tell him I'm proud of him, okay? I wouldn't have done half so well if it had been the other way around. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I'm really glad it wasn't. And tell him. . . Tell him I'll see him again someday. We'll be together again and when we are. . ." Fred gave Ginny the wicked grin she remembered. "Well, everyone had better watch out!"

Fred seemed to be growing more and more insubstantial. He was fading before her eyes, and it broke her heart that she could not touch him, even in her dreams. "Fred, wait!" she cried. "Don't go! Oh, please don't go!"

"Don't forget, Ginny, I never really left. I'm always somewhere in that place between sleep and dreaming. Whenever you think of me, I'm alive in your memory. And there, little sister, is where I'll always love you."

* * *

"I think she's waking up. Her eyelids are moving." 

"Ginny? Ginny can you hear me?"

Harry's voice, hoarse and strained. Bright lights, much brighter than at the Burrow. A narrow bed, not like the soft, wide bed at home, the one Harry had once likened to a safe ship on a restless sea. He was holding her hand, clasping it tightly in both of his own, pressing his lips to the palm as her eyes fluttered slowly open.

"Ginny," he said in that same raspy, labored voice, as though he'd been crying, or desperately anxious, or both. "Welcome back, love! How do you feel?"

"Groggy," she replied. "Is the baby. . ."

"The baby is fine," Molly assured her, appearing on her other side as abruptly as if she'd just Apparated there. "You gave us a bit of a scare, that's all. But the healers say all should be well, provided you take things a bit easier. You've been trying to do too much, I expect, what with caring for James and that Quidditch column of yours."

"We've already checked with the _Prophet_," said Arthur, who smiled at her over his wife's shoulder. "They've agreed to give you a leave of absence until you're fit again."

"Or until after the baby is born," countered Molly, who clearly thought this was the better option.

"Your mum is going to come stay with us for awhile," Harry said. "She'll take care of James until you're back on your feet. Ron and Hermione are looking after him now. Don't worry," Harry assured Ginny at her sudden look of consternation. "Hermione promised not to leave James alone with Ron."

"The baby is all right, isn't it?" Ginny asked. "This baby, I mean. Is it. . . will it. . . live?"

She couldn't have said why, but the tiny life within her suddenly seemed desperately important. Having gone from not wanting it, to grudging acceptance of its existence, she now wanted this child as she'd wanted few things in life. It had to live. It _had_ to!

"It's like your mum said, the healers think you'll be fine," Harry said, frowning at the intensity in her voice, as if he didn't think it was good for her to get herself so worked up. "There was . . . bleeding apparently and. . . Well, they managed to stop it, and as long as you keep taking this potion and don't do anything too strenuous, they think you'll be able to carry the baby to term."

"I'll take the potion," Ginny vowed. "I'll rest too. I'll do whatever they say. This baby has to live, Harry. It's a special baby. A _very_ special baby."

"Of course, dear," said Molly. "All babies are special."

"No, Mum," Ginny said. "This baby is different. This one is _extra_ special."

A look passed between Harry and his in-laws that said, _She's still a bit loopy. _Ginny thought about how she must look to them. Her long hair was mussed and tangled, there were certainly shadows under her eyes, and she was weak, still so weak from the potions and no doubt from loss of blood. But it was important that she make them understand there were things she needed to do. She had promised, after all.

"Where's George?" Ginny asked. "I want to speak to George."

"He's. . ." Molly began, blinking in confusion. "They were all here awhile ago, but we sent everybody home. You've been out for hours and we thought. . . Well, we promised to send word as soon as you were awake."

"I want to speak to George," Ginny repeated. "Just him and no other. At least for now."

The message for Harry could wait, Ginny decided. It was more or less the same thing everyone had been telling him for years. But she needed to talk to George immediately before the essence of the dream faded away.

"The healers say you can go home tomorrow, Ginny," her father said. "Why don't you wait. . ."

"No," said Ginny. "It has to be _now_. It's really important. Please, Harry. Please, Mum and Dad. Tell George I need to see him. And tell him I need to see him straight away."

_**

* * *

**__**A/N:**__ I intended to include Ginny's conversation with George in this chapter, but the dream sequence with Fred went on quite a bit longer than I originally intended. I hope nobody is too confused at this point, but if so, I ask that you simply take it on faith that all the answers will come with time. While you're waiting, please take just a minute to leave a review. It is the only payment fanfic authors receive for their work, and even if it's just a word or two, at least it lets me know you've passed this way. Cheers!_

* * *

Notes to Anonymous Reviewers

**Mimosa:** Actually, my muse, like me, doesn't scare easily. I'm so glad you liked the last chapter. My sense of humor tends to be a little off at times. I laugh at things most people don't find remotely funny, and am scratching my head when they're ROFL, so I'm glad it comes across well on paper (or computer screens). I really appreciate your comments. Your reviews are always such fun to read.

**Amy: **Sorry to hear my guess was correct. I've been through what Ginny is going through in this chapter, though my situation didn't end as well. Both situations are quite painful. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, though. Thanks for all your reviews.

**Faith:** Yes, that was a very "Percy" line, wasn't it? Even griping about his wife, he does it statistically. I'll keep the updates coming as fast as I can. Thanks for sticking with the story.

**Sara:** Ah, so you're one of the cliff-haters? My readers seem to be a mixed bag. Some love the cliffies, some hate 'em, but they do keep people coming back for more. Sorry about that, and thanks for reviewing.

**Greenscene:** Thanks for your comments. I do try to remain true to the books, but only within reason, as I prefer to keep my own stories in agreement. And since I don't have a window into JKR's soul (or her mind) my world is a bit different from hers. Glad you like it, though.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW:** Okay, Ginny is NOT dead, so you're free to love it again.

**Kim: **Glad you enjoy the suspense. Thanks for your comments.


	8. Chapter 8: Brother Sun, Sister Moon

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ I was overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter, which I found very gratifying because I really wasn't sure that I'd captured Fred's true "spirit," as it were. But apart from one reviewer who claimed he/she wouldn't read the story any more because I'd veered too far from canon by having Fred be "alive" (Hello? Not a careful reader, apparently), everyone seemed to think I hit it just right. I'm not so sure I like this one as well, but it's kind of a transitional chapter, and it is necessary, so anyway, here it is. Thanks so much for all your wonderful reviews. They mean more to me than I can possibly express._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_Brother Sun, Sister Moon_

By the time George arrived, Molly and Arthur had left to collect James and return with him to Grimmauld Place where they planned to stay overnight. Harry, however, insisted upon staying at the hospital and only removed himself from Ginny's room after she ordered him out on pain of sleeping on the sofa once she went home. He seemed fearful of leaving her even for a minute, as if something dreadful might happen as soon as he let her out of his sight, but finally agreed to prowl the corridors after a quickly murmured aside to George which, Ginny felt certain, had something to do with not upsetting her. She sighed as the door closed behind Harry. Men were so predictable sometimes, it was downright tedious.

"How are you feeling?" George asked solicitously as he pulled up a chair near the bed.

"Better, thanks. I need to talk to you, George."

"I gathered as much. What's up, Gin-Gin?"

Ginny smiled at the old childhood nickname. It was a mark of her brother's affection and concern for her that he used it now, but she felt a wave of concern for him as well and hoped she was not about to plunge him back into the pit of despair from which he had crawled so many times over the past seven years. For George, losing Fred had been like having a limb ripped off, but worse than that, for one could learn to live with a severed arm or leg. The phantom pain of a missing twin, however, was like losing half of oneself. And for George it felt like the loss of his better half.

It had always been Fred and George, Ginny thought, never George and Fred. Fred had always been the dominant one, a little more bold, a little more reckless, a little funnier, and always just a little bit more cruel. In those early days after the Battle when George appeared to be trying to drown himself in Firewhiskey, when his self-destructive behavior led to innumerable family meetings to discuss "What To Do About George," Ginny had often wished that he had a little more cruelty in him as it might have insulated him against the horrific pain that was the loss of his twin. But if Fred's dream-testimony was to be believed, it was George who was actually stronger, George who had a greater capacity for the courage to carry on, and Ginny hoped it was true, for she didn't think she could bear adding one more injury to the barely healed-over scars on her brother's heart.

"George," Ginny said, "I don't know if you're going to believe what I'm about to tell you, but I beg you to reserve judgment until I've finished. Will you do that?"

His brows knit, but he shrugged easily and said, "All right. Fire away."

She told him about her dream, leaving out only the part about her unborn child, which she felt funny about telling anyone at least until after she had discussed it with Harry. She hadn't even said anything to Hermione about that, though just why she had left out this information Ginny wasn't quite sure. She was nervous enough about sharing it with Harry, though, let alone anyone else, and so she skirted this issue with George, telling him only the pertinent details.

George said nothing while his sister spoke, but he bit his lip a few times, as though biting back something he longed to say but couldn't because he'd promised to hear her out. When she finished, there was silence between them. Ginny could not read her brother's expression because he kept his eyes down, focusing on something she could not see.

"Well?" Ginny said, unable to bear the suspense.

"I. . ." George began, then broke off and stared at the floor again. "Ginny, I've had dreams about Fred, too. I think we all have from time to time."

"This wasn't a normal dream, George. It was so vivid. It seemed so _real!_"

"Look," said George, "when Katie was pregnant she had a lot of weird dreams. She told me about one where she put the baby in a pram and when she went to pick it up, it had turned into a roast chicken. Put me off poultry for awhile, let me tell you!"

"It wasn't like that," Ginny insisted. "George, he said he was _proud_ of you!"

He glanced at her briefly, but before he looked away she saw the tiniest flicker in his eyes as if he wanted to believe her but dared not allow himself to do so. "It's a very nice thing for you to say, Ginny," George said slowly. "But. . ."

"I'm not being nice, George, and it wasn't _me_, it was him. It was Fred! Why won't you believe me?"

Ginny cast about for something that might convince him. She knew that she had left things out, but bits and pieces of the dream had already slipped away and others seemed far less clear in the cold, clear light of wakefulness. What could she say that would make him believe that what she had seen was more than a dream, that it really was Fred and that in some form he'd never really gone away?

"It's not that I don't believe you," George said, in a way that made her think he was choosing his words very carefully. "It's just. . . Well, that whole business about Ron, for example. Don't you think the idea of making him a partner hasn't already occurred to me? But it's not right, Ginny. It doesn't feel right."

"Because it makes you feel like you're being disloyal to Fred," Ginny concluded. "I know the two of you started the business together, George, but Fred wants you to move on and he thinks Ron has earned it. Ron has worked alongside you in the joke shop longer than Fred did, for Merlin's sake. Can't you see that, too?"

"Ginny," George said again, and this time there was a slight edge to his voice, "I know you and Ron have always been close. . ."

"No closer than I am to the rest of you."

His expression was almost pitying. "That's not true and you know it. You were always closer to Ron, just as Bill and Charlie were close, and just as . . ."

He broke off, seemingly unable to voice what he was thinking. "You and Fred?" Ginny finished for him.

George rushed on without acknowledging her comment. "You and Ron were the babies of the family. There was only a year's difference in your ages. You married his best friend. His wife is your best friend. Do you see at all where I'm going with this?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

"Only that. . . Well, apparently you think I've been unfair to Ron. . ."

"I never said you were unfair to Ron! When did I ever say that?"

". . . just because I haven't given him a share of the business doesn't mean he hasn't been well compensated, or that he hasn't had plenty of opportunities. . ."

"Ron is _your_ brother, too! And Fred is the one who wants you to make him a partner, not me!"

"Ginny," said George, in an obvious effort to stay calm, "Fred is dead. And I think we both know where this is really coming from."

"Sod you, George!" Ginny flared, coming nearly off the bed in her agitation. "Do you really think I would use Fred's memory to wheedle some sort of advantage for Ron out of you? Do you honestly believe I would pit one of my brothers against the other that way? Is that what you think of me?"

George appeared to be struggling with himself. There was a deep flush under his freckles. "Ginny, I didn't mean to upset you. . ."

"I'm _not_ upset!" Ginny replied in a strident tone that proved otherwise.

"Yes, you are, and Harry is going to have my guts for garters if I allow this to go on."

"To hell with Harry!" she shouted, but at the same time she could see the hurt in George's eyes and the look that said, 'Why are you doing this to me?' He had learned to live with Fred's memory, and if he still wasn't the old George, at least he wasn't trying to kill himself any more. He was even happy most of the time now that he had Katie and their child. But she had promised Fred, and she had to make George listen, she had to make him _see_! Damn it, why was this so hard? It was like pulling the wings off a fly!

"Ginny, you're not feeling well," said George. "And since all I seem to be doing is winding you up, maybe it would be better if I left."

He started toward the door and Ginny shouted, "George, wait!" just as Harry burst into the room.

"George, what in the name of Merlin is wrong with you?" Harry demanded. "I could hear the two of you shouting out in the corridor, and after I asked you not to upset her. . ."

"Harry, shut up," Ginny ordered, and Harry subsided, but he still looked thunderous.

"Ginny, you're my sister and I love you," said George. "But I really think we should continue this conversation at another time."

"George," Ginny called after him. "What does 'callipygian' mean?"

George stopped as though struck by a freezing charm. He turned to look at her. "What did you say?"

"I asked what 'callipygian' means," Ginny replied. "I just remembered. He told me to remind you what he said to a Muggle girl you both met in Cornwall. And then he told me to ask you what 'callipygian' means. He said you would know."

George did not answer right away. In fact, Ginny began to wonder if he ever would. Harry stood there, holding the door handle, looking determined not to permit anything else to upset Ginny, but very much wrong-footed in the face of her determination to carry on. George seemed temporarily beyond words, and when he finally spoke he looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Where . . . where did you hear that?"

"He told me," Ginny replied softly.

"You could have looked it up . . ."

"How did I know about the girl from Cornwall then?" Ginny countered.

George appeared to consider this. He couldn't seem to work out how she had come by what was obviously privileged information.

"What does it mean?" Ginny asked. "I've never even heard the word before."

"It means. . ." George gave a hollow laugh. "He . . . used to look up odd words. The more obscure the better. He used them to try to impress birds. He thought they made him sound. . ."

George began to laugh again, but this time it sounded genuine. It started somewhere around his ankles and worked its way up, shaking his entire body until tears began to stream down his face. But they were tears of laughter, not sorrow, and he gave himself up to it as the full force of the memory struck him.

"The girl in Cornwall," he said between guffaws. "Fred called her his 'little callipygian.' And she thought it was the sweetest thing. It really impressed her. I don't know what he told her it meant, but she went round telling everyone she knew until she ran into this Greek chap who apparently told her the truth."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Ginny said, unable to hold back her own laughter at the look on George's face. "What does it mean?"

"It means," George said, "she had a really great arse!"

All three of them burst out laughing, and it was as if Fred was laughing with them, laughing with joy at the thought of someone whose memory had hurt too much for far too long. They laughed until their sides ached, well beyond the actual humor of the situation until it occurred to Ginny they were all teetering on the edge of hysteria. Finally George held up both hands as though calming a restive horse and managed to bring himself under control.

"Good old Fred!" he grinned. "He was just . . . He really was so. . ."

He caught Ginny's eye then and she was smiling at him with such tender understanding that his grin faded and his face seemed to crumble. "Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

To everyone's horror, his own included, George burst into tears. Ginny scrambled out of bed and went to her brother, holding him as if he were James. She rubbed his back as sobs racked his body and he clung to her as though she was the only solid thing on earth. Harry hovered uncertainly, torn between wanting to protect Ginny and concern for George until Ginny said, "Give us a minute, Harry, please. I'll explain everything in a bit, I promise."

Harry hesitated, then backed out of the room once more, closing the door behind him. He glared at it for a minute before resuming his pacing, listening for any sound from within and glancing at his watch every thirty seconds for good measure. It was much longer than a minute before the door opened again. In fact, it was closer to half an hour before George finally emerged, red-eyed and blotchy-faced, but grinning, albeit sheepishly.

"Sorry about that," George mumbled, peering at Harry from the corners of his eyes like a naughty child caught in mischief.

"No problem," said Harry, not meaning it. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "You okay?"

"Yeah," George said, taking a deep breath and letting it out again in a long exhalation. "Yeah, I think. . . I think everything is going to be all right now."

Harry frowned with a look of utter incomprehension. "Glad to hear it."

They fell silent for a moment, neither looking at the other, then George said, "Didn't mean to upset her, you know. But, well, Ginny. . ."

"Ginny," Harry replied, nodding. "Yes."

"I think she's okay," George said. "She said the baby's all right. It _is_ all right, isn't it?"

"Far as I know," said Harry.

There was another awkward silence, but if Harry was expecting any sort of explanation, it did not appear to be forthcoming. George grinned again and rubbed his hands together in a decisive fashion. "I'll leave you to it then. If you'll excuse me, I, er. . . Well, it seems I need to have a little talk with Ron."

Harry's frown deepened as he watched George stride away down the corridor with a little more bounce in his step than he seemed to have had upon his arrival. Shaking his head in confusion, Harry went back into Ginny's room and found her propped up in bed once more, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. She looked tired but pleased, and she held out her hand as Harry approached her.

"Not a good day for you, was it?" she said, as he took her hand and sat in the chair recently vacated by George.

"I've had better," Harry admitted. "It was worse for you, though." He heaved a long sigh. "Oh, Ginny. I do love you so. But I'd really appreciate it if you never frightened me that way again."

Ginny felt her heart contract at the sight of his worried face, at the deep lines etched on his forehead and the shadows beneath those brilliant eyes. To the world, he was Harry Potter, hero, conqueror, the man who had brought down seemingly invincible Dark Forces. But to her, he was Harry, husband, lover, the father of her children, and a man who was so very vulnerable beneath the strong, steady outward show. However unflappable he may have appeared, however powerful he might seem, he had an Achilles heel and it wore the guise of a small, red-haired witch. Ginny was the chink in his armor, and the loss of her would shatter him beyond any possibility of repair.

"I'm fine, darling," Ginny said. "Really, I am."

"Well, you'd better stay that way," Harry said. "And I intend to ensure that you do. I plan to keep an eye on you, you know."

"Do you?" said Ginny, with a flirtatious twinkle in her eyes. "Are there any parts of me you plan to keep a particular eye on?"

"_All _of you," Harry replied, grinning. "Although, I have to admit, you are pretty 'callipygian' yourself."

"Ooh!" Ginny waggled her eyebrows. "Right back at you!"

"All right, enough of that," Harry chided. "The healers said we're not supposed to, er, _indulge_ for awhile. At least not until the danger of bleeding has passed."

"Bugger," Ginny sighed. "Which actually reminds me. . . We need to talk. There's something I need to tell you, and it's about the baby."

"Which baby?"

"This baby," she said, placing a hand on her abdomen.

"What's wrong?" Harry said in alarm. "Did the healers . . ."

"No," said Ginny before he could build up a full head of steam. "They didn't tell me anything new, at least nothing they haven't already told both of us. This information came from a different and rather unusual source."

"Unusual? What are you talking about?"

"Fred," Ginny said simply. "Remus. Tonks. And possibly others. I have a feeling there will be others before this is done."

Ginny watched the play of emotions on Harry's face. His Auror training had given him plenty of practice at hiding what he was thinking and feeling. But she could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes and the sudden veiled look as he tried to decide whether she was barking or simply under the influence of all the potions they had given her.

"I'm not mad," she said.

"I wasn't thinking that," Harry said, which struck Ginny as a palpable untruth. "But Ginny, Fred, Remus, and Tonks are. . ."

"Dead. I know. It's kind of a long story, actually. It's. . ."

Ginny broke off at the skepticism on his face, which he quickly tried to mask, but she had seen it and sighed as she thought of her conversation with George. Men, it seemed, responded best to that which they could see, hear and touch on the physical plane, whereas women tended to react more to emotions or what they felt to be true. There were exceptions, of course. Hermione, for example, with her love of rules, statistics, and headachy subjects like Arithmancy. But even Hermione had accepted without question the dream Ginny described to her. George, on the other hand, had proven a much tougher nut to crack.

Would Harry be the same? Ginny could not help wondering. He would not ridicule her, he would not call her mad, nor would he dismiss her story out of hand. But he would worry, perhaps excessively, and he would not tell her what he truly thought, especially if he thought it _was_ a bit mad. It would be so much easier if she could offer something that would enable him to see with his own eyes just what sort of magic was at work. And suddenly Ginny knew what evidence she could provide.

"Harry," she said, "I need my wand."

"Your wand?" Harry said, as though he'd never heard of such a thing.

"Yes, my wand," Ginny replied. "I think Mum put it on the shelf in that cupboard over there when she was tidying things in here earlier. Would you get it for me please?"

Harry did as she asked and returned with her wand which he held out to her tentatively, unsure what she planned to do. She took it from him and pointed it at the opposite wall.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ Ginny said.

A silver doe burst from the end of her wand. Harry watched in astonishment as it cantered the length of the room and disappeared out the window. And when Ginny turned to look at him, she was not at all surprised to see that his eyes were glistening with tears.

**_

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_****_A/N:_**_ This chapter leaned a little toward the angsty side, but the next one should be much lighter in tone. Review please! Oh, and for anyone who is interested, the following is from Merriam Webster's Dictionary: _

**Callipygian **(ka-la-pi-jee-en): having shapely buttocks

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Notes to Anonymous Reviewers

**Mimosa:** At the risk of sounding barmy, the dream sequences I've written in this story are based on personal experience. I've had quite a few dreams of dead loved ones, some of which turned out to be precognitive. I am certainly no Seer (despite the name Cassandra's Cross) but there is kind of a family tendency toward this sort of thing and it's always intrigued me. And yes, of course, "knickers" instead of panties. These are British characters, after all, and though I'm sure I've made mistakes, I do try to keep them true to their national origins. It actually irritates me when other fanfic writers have the Potter or Weasley kids call their mothers "Mom," though that's what I call my own and what my son calls me (unless he's teasing me, in which case he calls me "Mumsie" which drives me nuts). Poor Ron and his perpetual clumsiness, but I think he's going to be gaining confidence and competence before the birth of his child. You'll see more in the next chapter. Thanks so much for all your delightful reviews.

**Amy: **Hermione is having normal weird pregnancy dreams, but nothing like Ginny's situation. There's a reason for that, as you'll see later. Yes, it is high time Ron was made a partner, and good on Fred for recognizing it. Poor George, though. The only person I felt sorrier for at the end of DH was Andromeda Tonks because her losses were so absolute. There are some great fics out there that focus on her and some are absolutely heartrending.

**Ashley: **I don't mind long chapters either, but some readers find them a bit tedious, so I try to keep mine moderate in length. As to whether Harry will meet Lily & James, he's already done that a few times, but this story is mostly Ginny's POV, so the question should be will Ginny meet them? H'm. . .

**Sara:** Don't worry, I'd never leave a story for two months. I would lose the thread of it by then, so I tend to write pretty continuously once I start. Thanks for your reviews.

**Pixypani:** Writers tend to borrow from a lot of sources, but Fred's comments differ from Tinkerbell's in a number of ways. I'm really glad you like the story.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW:** Glad you're pleased. Thanks for your comments.


	9. Chapter 9: The Name Game

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ First of all, welcome to all my friends from Mugglenet! I think you'll find updates come much more regularly on this site, and I have the advantage of being able to respond directly to most of you. For everyone else, please accept my apologies if updates don't come quite as quickly as usual this week, but life is not only stranger than fiction, it also has a way of interfering. My schedule is pretty full over the next few days, but hopefully things will settle down soon so that I can return to what's really important, namely the imaginary world of Harry Potter. _

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**Chapter Eight**

_The Name Game_

Ron and Hermione were so eager to show off their new home that they invited the Potters over even before they moved in. Teddy happened to be visiting that weekend, so Harry and Ginny brought him along, and the seven-year-old quickly discovered a tree-house in the back garden which he decide to explore while the adults toured the house.

"That tree-house was the deciding factor for me," Hermione admitted as they watched Teddy climb the wooden posts nailed into the trunk of an enormous old oak tree. "I could picture our own child playing there a few years down the road."

She rested a hand on her bulging abdomen, which she obviously found lovely as she seemed to go out of her way to display it. "Can you believe it? Less than ten centimeters long, but one of the books I'm reading claims she can already suck her thumb!"

"Or _his_ thumb," Ron countered. "It could be a boy."

"It feels like a girl, though," said Hermione. "I know it's not very scientific, but it really does feel that way." She glanced at Ron. "Would you mind?"

"Why would I mind?" Ron replied. "All I ask is that she's like her mother." He wrapped his arms around Hermione from behind and kissed the side of her neck. He seemed to glow as much as she did, and they both looked so blissful that Harry and Ginny couldn't help smiling.

"I just hope she doesn't get my hair," Hermione said, lifting a bushy strand with a wry smile.

"I hope she does," Ron said, wrapping his arms even tighter. "I love your hair."

Harry cleared his throat. "Don't mind us or anything, but we _are_ still here."

Hermione and Ron both blushed, and Ginny laughed. "You two! I swear you act like no one else has ever had a baby."

"Well, _we've_ never had one," Ron said.

"Can't argue with that," said Ginny. "Does this house of yours have a loo, by any chance?"

Harry was struggling with James, who was objecting rather loudly to being held, but he looked alarmed at Ginny's question. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Ginny replied.

"There's nothing wrong?" Harry said. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Ginny said, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. She could hardly stir these days without him flying into a panic and it was _really_ starting to get on her nerves. "This little one is having a kip on my bladder is all. Why don't you put James down and let him crawl a bit? It's not as if there's anything in here he can get into."

Harry set James on the parquet floor in the dining room where they all stood looking out into the garden through a large, unadorned window through which they could see Teddy's bright blue hair among the scarlet and gold autumn leaves. Babbling in the language he'd recently acquired, which consisted mainly of, "Ba, ba, ba, ba," James scooted away at top speed on his hands and knees, but the empty room offered little potential for either injury or mischief.

"I'll show you where it is, Ginny," Hermione offered. "It's just this way."

As they left the room, they heard Ron say to Harry, "Women always go to the loo together, don't they? Why is that, d'you think?"

"It really is a beautiful house, Hermione," Ginny said as they crossed a vestibule with a glazed door that led directly to the garden. The sitting room had a large stone fireplace that was already connected to the Floo network, and a set of curved stairs rose graciously to the first floor from a reception hall that reflected the classic Georgian style of the entire house. The exterior was red brick and there was a partially walled garden in back.

"I love everything about it," Hermione said blissfully. "Of course we'll be in debt to the Gringotts goblins for awhile, but at least we can afford the payments now that Ron's been made a partner. Have we thanked you enough for that, Ginny?"

"It wasn't me," Ginny insisted. It was Fred. Remember?"

Hermione smiled trembled a little. "Fred. Yes. Of course."

While Ginny made use of the facilities, Hermione chatted through the door about her plans for the new house which included an attic dormitory for all the displaced house-elves who were causing massive overcrowding in their current domicile. Ginny had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh, for Hermione's house-elves were a source of amusement for the entire family. Hermione had taken S.P.E.W. to a whole new level through her work with the Ministry by creating laws that allowed house-elves with cruel or unsatisfactory masters to be set free even without the gift of clothes. Unfortunately, it had created a bit of a refugee situation, as most wizard families wanted no part of house-elves that required payment, and Hermione had been forced to bring some into her own home to prevent them from starving. At last count there were six unemployed house-elves sharing Ron and Hermione's small London flat, and while it meant they never had to lift a finger with the cooking or cleaning, space had become an issue, not to mention privacy.

"How have you been feeling?" Ginny asked. "You look terrific."

"I feel terrific," Hermione admitted. "A bit tired perhaps, but still no nausea or vomiting, no strange cravings or mood swings. I did experience a little cramping the other day, but the healer said it was just my pelvis expanding. All perfectly normal, it seems. Honestly, for the most part, I don't think I've ever felt better!"

Ginny regarded her sourly. She had felt like she was making enormous progress because she only threw up once a day now. And as for cramps, well, the less said about that the better.

"How about you?" asked Hermione, seeming to feel that turn-about was fair play. "Any more bleeding episodes?"

"Nothing to speak of," Ginny said evasively. "Just a little spotting is all. I'm still taking the potions and the healers don't seem too concerned. Most of the time."

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

"Oh, don't look so mournful. I haven't lost the baby and I'm not _going_ to lose it. For Merlin's sake, Hermione, isn't it enough that I have to cope with Harry treating me like I'm about to burst into flames every time I sneeze?"

"Sorry," said Hermione. "Harry's not dealing too well with all this, I take it?"

"That's putting it mildly," Ginny said. "If it was up to him, I'd stay in bed all day, every day, until this baby is born. He has Winky and Kreacher under orders not to let me do anything strenuous, and Mum pops in twice a day to spy on me and make sure Harry's orders are being carried out. They won't even let me pick up my own child!"

"Well, James _is_ a bit big now," Hermione said. "Didn't the healers say you shouldn't lift anything heavy?"

"He's only ten months old!" Ginny said. "And he's _not_ heavy! He's a perfectly normal weight for his age."

"I didn't say he wasn't, Ginny, I only meant. . ."

"Whose side are you on anyway?" Ginny demanded.

Hermione wisely decided to drop it. They had arrived at the vestibule again, but the dining room was empty. Through the window, however, they could see that the men had joined Teddy in the garden. The little boy had come down from the tree-house and was sitting on the grass, holding out his arms to James who was taking a few tottering steps toward him while Harry gripped the baby's hands for support. Ron sat on a low wall nearby, watching them with a thoughtful expression, as though taking mental notes.

"Ron has been so adorable," said Hermione, conjuring a pair of chairs in front of the window for the women to sit on. "Would you believe he's been making the rounds of all his nieces and nephews, offering to babysit so he can 'practice' being a dad? He even convinced Penelope to let him hold the new baby last week."

Ginny had a sudden mental image of Ron terrorizing his sisters-in-law by stalking their children and said, "Penny left Ron alone with a newborn? Has she lost her mind?"

"Oh, no, she stayed close by," Hermione replied, laughing. "As a matter of fact, I don't think she blinked the entire time he was there, but he did beautifully. He's actually getting quite good at it. You know, he really seems to have a way with children."

Ginny bit back the retort that popped into her head, namely, "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" But why burst Hermione's bubble?

"Fancy them naming this latest one 'Prudence,'" Hermione said, referring to Percy and Penelope's new daughter. "They have quite a thing for alliteration, don't they?"

"I suppose it started out with their own names and they just got carried away," said Ginny, laughing as she recalled George's reaction to the new baby's name. After looking over Prewett, Priscilla, Prescott, and Prudence, George declared, "Four P's in a pod, aren't they?" And it sounded so much like the old George that everyone, even Percy, laughed well out of proportion to the actual wittiness.

"George seems different, doesn't he?" Ginny said. "Easier. Happier even."

"It's all down to you, Ginny," said Hermione fondly. "You lifted a weight from his shoulders by telling him about that dream of yours. I really think he feels like he can finally move on."

"I don't know how much I really had to do with it," Ginny said. "But I wish I could do the same for Harry."

"Is he still having nightmares?"

"Nearly every night since I told him. I wish I'd never said anything."

"I can't understand it," Hermione said. "I'd think, after some of the dreams he's had. . ."

"Well, that's the trouble, isn't it?" said Ginny. "Think back, Hermione. What happened to Harry when he had all those unusual dreams?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "This isn't the same thing at all! That was due to his connection with Voldemort, but this. . . He surely doesn't believe any of this is connected to Dark Magic?"

"Well, you know Harry," Ginny replied. "I think some of Mad-Eye's paranoia must have rubbed off on him because he always leaps to the worst possible conclusions. Show him anything out of the ordinary and he automatically assumes something dark or dangerous is behind it."

"Well, he's an Auror," said Hermione. "He's trained to think that way."

Ginny sighed. "I think it has more to do with his past. And after what he went through. . .Well, it would leave scars, wouldn't it?"

Hermione nodded sadly. "Do you remember when Ron was attacked by those brains at the Department of Mysteries? Madam Pomfrey told him that thoughts leave worse scars than any other type of injury. And Harry went through so much more than any of us."

Ginny thought of the way Harry still worried the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. It hadn't pained him now for more than seven years, not since the connection with Voldemort was severed, but he continued to stroke it absently, like worry beads, whenever he was tense or upset. It was a nervous habit he couldn't seem to break, and he'd been rubbing that scar a lot lately.

"If only I could convince him to let go of the guilt," Ginny said. "I hoped that after I told him what Fred said . . . But if anything, it only made it worse."

"Maybe it's not down to you to do anything, Ginny," Hermione suggested. "Maybe it's something he has to work through on his own."

"But I love him, Hermione, and I can't stand watching him beat himself up the way he does. I have to stop myself sometimes from saying anything to him, even when he's behaving like the world's biggest prat, because he's always so hard on himself that I just don't have the heart. He apologizes for everything, and I do mean _everything_. I broke a fingernail the other day, and he apologized!"

Hermione laughed. "It can't be _that_ bad."

"Maybe not, but it's still frustrating. And the nightmares! If you could see the way he . . ."

Ginny broke off, remembering the previous night when she'd shaken Harry awake from another of the dreams that had plagued him off and on since the end of the war. He'd been clammy, cold and shivering, panting as if he had just run a long way, and in his eyes was a look of things too terrible to be borne. Long ago Ginny had hit upon a remedy for his night-terrors, and in her body he found warmth and comfort to drive away the horrific images. But with the restrictions imposed by the healers still in force, all she could do was hold him until he lapsed once more into an uneasy slumber.

Ginny watched him chasing Teddy round the garden while Ron looked after James (and actually appeared to be doing a pretty good job; maybe Hermione was right!). Harry laughed as he captured Teddy and flipped him upside down so that the little boy's turquoise hair nearly brushed the ground. Teddy pushed himself into a handstand before toppling over backward, and chortled with glee when Harry dropped onto the grass and engaged him in a mock-wrestling match. Orphans of the storm, Ginny thought sadly, as she did so often when she saw the two of them together. But Teddy, at least, had a childhood. He was surrounded by people who loved him, from Andromeda to whom he was the center of the universe, to Harry and Ginny who had made him part of their family, to the entire Weasley clan who had taken the orphan boy under their wing, just as they had with Harry. But Harry's background when he first came to them was very different from Teddy's. For Harry there had been no loving grandmother, no doting godfather, no extended family. For him there had only been the Dursleys, the mere mention of whom was enough to make Ginny's face go as red as hair. Harry may have forgiven them, but Ginny never would, and the thought of that wretched cupboard under the stairs made her long to go raging down to Surrey to practice her Bat Bogey Hex on his wretched relatives. She didn't, of course, or at least she hadn't yet, but it amazed her that anyone who had been raised the way Harry had could have grown up to be such a good and loving man.

"I don't suppose _you've_ had any more dreams," said Hermione. "Since the one with Fred?"

"No," said Ginny. "They're terribly confusing, even scary in a way, but comforting too. It's hard to explain. I wish I understood them better."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I've been spending a lot of time at the Ministry Law Library. It's on the same level as the Department of Mysteries. Maybe I could pop over next time I'm there and see if they have anything on dreams. I might find something useful."

Ginny shrugged. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose. It's so strange, Hermione. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Not when I was pregnant with James, nor any time before that, and there's no Seer blood in my family, at least not as far as I know."

"Seers have clairvoyant powers," Hermione pointed out. "And that's not what you're doing, is it? You're not really predicting the future. The dreams you're having are more. . . mediumistic, I suppose. It's a form of divination, but different than clairvoyance."

Ginny looked startled. "I thought you hated divination. How do you know all that?"

"Just because I dislike a subject doesn't mean I don't know anything about it," Hermione replied. "How would I know I disliked it if I hadn't read up on it? I always like to give things a fair chance. Besides, I don't so much hate divination as know that true Seers and Mediums are very rare. The kind of divination Professor Trelawney practiced, for example. . . But even Professor Trelawney wasn't a complete fraud. After all, she was the one who made the Prophecy about Harry."

Ginny felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Was _that_ why Harry had found her dreams so disturbing? Because he thought this was a prophecy about their unborn child? And if so, no wonder it had upset him, for how dearly had the Prophecy that was made about him while he was still in his mother's womb cost him? That Prophecy had taken his parents, his godfather, and countless others. It had even cost him the freedom to choose his own path in life. Voldemort's belief in the Prophecy had forced Harry to react in a way he would surely not have chosen had he been give any choice at all. Had he been given an option, Ginny believed he would have chosen a quiet life and the simple pleasures he found so satisfying now. Or were those things satisfying because of everything he had gone through? And would they have come together if his destiny had taken him another way?

"What about the Patronus, though?" Ginny asked. "I still don't understand what that means."

"Did you ask Harry about it?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "He didn't seem to find that part as disturbing as. . . well, some of the other things in the dreams. He even thought. . .You're not going to believe this, Hermione, but do you know what he suggested we name this baby if it's a boy?"

"What?"

"Severus. As in Snape."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Was he serious?"

"I'm not sure," said Ginny. "Still, can you _believe_ it?"

Hermione appeared to consider the possibility. "It's definitely unusual. . ."

"You _think_?" Ginny said sarcastically. "Why on earth would anyone do something like that to an innocent child?"

"Well," said Hermione, clearly struggling to be fair, "he did turn out to be a much better person than any of us imagined. Snape, I mean."

"You sound like Harry," Ginny said with a sneer. "The way he put it was, 'Severus Snape was the bravest man I ever knew,' which is utter bollocks, if you ask me. All right, maybe he _did_ save Harry's life, but it didn't stop him being a bullying git, did it? Snape never lost an opportunity to torment Harry and Neville, and Merlin only knows how many other hapless victims. And have you forgotten the way he treated _you_, Hermione? Wasn't he the one who called you an insufferable know-it-all?"

Hermione smiled rather ruefully. "I _was_ a know-it-all. And I suppose I was a little insufferable at times."

Ginny let out a mild snort. "Well, nothing doing is what I say. No child of mine is going to be called Severus!"

"His Patronus was a doe," Hermione said quietly.

"So what if it was?" said Ginny defensively. "Plenty of witches and wizards have probably had doe Patronuses. Snape isn't the only. . ."

"Snape's Patronus was a doe because of Harry's mother," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Because he loved her and because he lost her. Why was her Patronus a doe, I wonder? Was it always that way or did it change after. . ."

Ginny stared, blinking. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione, biting her lip in concentration. "I'll have to think about it. And do some research, of course." She took a deep breath. "Well, did Harry come up with any other ideas for names after you rejected that one?"

"Just one," Ginny said. "But it's so old-fashioned. . ."

"Don't tell me he wants to name the baby after Godric Gryffindor?"

"No," said Ginny. "He wants to name it after Professor Dumbledore. Specifically, Albus."

"Oh," Hermione said. "That's sort of . . . nice, isn't it?"

"Well, of course it's nice. Dumbledore was a very great man. But aside from the fact that it seems a little pretentious, doesn't it practically guarantee the poor kid will get beat up at school?"

"That might be true in the Muggle world," said Hermione. "But in an environment where babies are routinely given names like Nymphadora. . ."

"Who detested her name, in case you've forgotten," Ginny reminded her. "Don't you remember what she used to say whenever anyone called her that?"

"_Don't_ call me Nymphadora!" both women said together, laughing.

"I suppose we could always call him Al," said Ginny, once they had stopped laughing. "Actually, that's not half bad: Al Potter."

"What if it's a girl?"

"Oh, well, in that case we already have a name picked out," Ginny said. "It's what we would have called James if he'd been a girl: Lily."

Hermione smiled. "That's lovely."

"What about you and Ron? Have you picked out names?"

"We haven't quite finished fighting about that yet," Hermione admitted. "We're nowhere close to an agreement on a boy's name, though for a girl we've just about decided on. . . well. . . ."

"What?" Ginny prompted when Hermione hesitated.

Hermione blushed. "Rose."

It was Ginny's turn to smile. "Oh, that's perfect! Rose Weasley. Just so!"

"I like it," Hermione said simply. "What you were saying earlier about dreams, Ginny, reminded of something I've been meaning to tell you. It was something I read about recently. There was a brief mention of it in one of the pregnancy and early child care books I've been studying. It intrigued me enough that I looked up several of the references in the back of the book, which led to. . ."

"Hermione," Ginny said, "I appreciate your determination to thoroughly explain everything, but it's only another five months or so before we both give birth. . ."

"Oh, all right," said Hermione. "Apparently there are some very learned witches and wizards who believe there is a strong connection between birth and death. They also believe this is the reason that pregnant women, witches in particular, often dream of those who have crossed over. Of course a lot of pregnant women are susceptible to unusual dreams. I even had one myself, and I've never had that sort of dream before."

Ginny frowned. "What sort of dream?"

"It wasn't anything like the dreams you've described," said Hermione. "It wasn't especially vivid or anywhere near as lucid as yours have been. In fact, it was really just a ordinary dream except for. . . well, it involved my grandfather."

"Your grandfather?" said Ginny.

"Yes," Hermione said. "He died just before I received my Hogwarts letter, and it nearly broke my heart because I was so very fond of him. He was one of the few people who never made me feel like a freak because I liked books or. . . This was before anyone knew I was a witch, obviously, but I could do things which I now realize were early signs of magical ability. It must have seemed odd, though, especially to Muggles, but Grandad Hugo never made me feel like there was anything wrong with me. In fact, he. . ."

"The dream, Hermione," Ginny said impatiently. "What happened in the dream?"

"Well, it's the reason I feel like this baby is a girl," Hermione explained. "The baby in my dream was a girl, only she wasn't a baby anymore, she was all grown up. She looked a bit like me, but she had red hair and freckles, like Ron. My grandfather was there, too. And in the dream, he was placing a crown on my daughter's head."

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**_A/N:_**_ For those of you who have not already seen it, I've posted a poll on my profile page that will enable you to vote on who you think Ginny's next "dream visitor" will be. I'll announce the results in one of the next two chapters which is when . . . Ooh, do you feel another dream coming on? _

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**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers** (this includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses; all others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews) 

**Mimosa:** No, you really can't take me anywhere, but I consider "delightfully barmy" to be an enormous compliment, so what can I say? Brother Sun & Sister Moon is a fascinating way of putting it. As to what's going to happen next, well. . .

**Amy: **Yes, George finally came through after his "Come to Jesus meeting" (as they say in the American South) with Ginny. Sorry to gyp you on the rest of the conversation between Harry & Ginny, but a lot of it is implied in her conversation with Hermione in this chapter. Also, there will be more discussions between Harry & Ginny on this subject; you can take that one to the bank!

**Faith: **I agree that Ron is an often "overlooked" character. Personally, I never really understood why JKR herself didn't do more with him as he has qualities that I think were underdeveloped in the series. His chess mastery, for example, is indicative of great strategic skill which is why I've made him a brilliant marketing strategist for WWW in my stories. I don't know, maybe Jo would have done the same if she'd kept writing. Your comment about Ginny's Patronus is very perceptive. Few people have picked up on that, but you seem to be onto something. H'm. . .

**Sara:** I like Harry's softer side as well. I really do think Ginny (and their children of course, but mostly her) would be his Achilles heel.

**Kim:** Don't worry, I will keep going, and as long as you keep going too, you'll find out.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW:** Thanks so much for your effusive review. Glad you're enjoying the story.


	10. Chapter 10: Fear Factor

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the delay in posting this one, but life, as I mentioned earlier, has a way of interfering. Among other things, this week brought me a dog with an ear infection, a son with an emotional crisis, two leaky faucets, botched flight schedules, and, for all I know, a partridge in a pear tree (don't ask!). You may have noticed that I've added chapter titles for ease of identification, both for you and me. Thanks to __**Mimosa**__ for giving me the idea for the Ginny-George chapter (shown as Chapter 8, actually Seven). Slightly racy "fluff alert" for this chapter, particularly near the end. You have been warned! _

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**Chapter Nine**

_Fear Factor_

Harry was tossing James into the air when Ginny came downstairs.

"That isn't a very good idea," Ginny warned her husband as James squealed in delight. "It wasn't all that long ago he ate, you know."

"It's our special game," Harry replied. "And you like it, don't you, little man? You like. . . Urgh!"

Harry looked down at the front of his now spattered robes, and then looked up at James, who was smiling as if he had just done something wonderful.

"How many times, Potter?" Ginny sighed. She pulled out her wand and cleaned Harry's robes with a quick _Tergeo_. "Why don't you find something quiet to do with him? It's nearly his bedtime."

"I will, if you go back to bed," said Harry. "The healers said you were supposed to stay off your feet, remember?"

"Bother the healers," Ginny grumbled, but she dropped into a chair and placed her feet on an ottoman. "I'm tired of staying in bed. I can rest here as well as I can upstairs, can't I? Look, see? My feet are up and everything."

She reached for her knitting with a virtuous expression. Harry subsided, but watched her out of the corners of his eyes, as if to ensure she didn't knit too vigorously.

Ginny focused on a difficult stitch, and swallowed the resentment that seemed to rise so easily these days. It wasn't Harry's fault she'd been ordered bed rest, but she did resent his unspoken accusation that she'd brought it on herself, even though she knew that might be at least partially true. She had accepted the restrictions willingly at first, but the inevitable chaffing set in and with it a resumption of many activities she had once considered blissfully "normal." The result had been another overnight stay at St. Mungo's, and when she returned home Harry's instructions to the house-elves had doubled in severity. Ginny could hardly move without Kreacher appearing at her elbow to croak, "Mistress should be resting," or Winky snatching the baby out of her arms, squeaking, "Master James is too heavy for Mistress to carry!" Ginny knew that Harry was only acting out of love and concern, but being told off by house-elves was a bit much, and more than once she sent the hapless servants scurrying for cover.

But Harry did more than order the house-elves to nag his wife. He also did whatever he could to pitch in at home, particularly in the area of child care, and after dinner playtimes with their son had become a nightly ritual that he seemed to enjoy as much as James did. Ginny felt the tiniest bit envious of the growing bond between father and son, but James was thriving and it really was sweet to see the way his face lit up whenever Harry came into view. Ginny enjoyed watching them together, and she smiled as Harry _Summoned_ a set of brightly colored plastic toys shaped like magical creatures and handed James a purple kneazle, which he immediately threw across the room. Throwing things was one of his favorite pastimes, and on a good night he could achieve some fairly impressive distances.

"What are you making?" Harry asked as an orange hippogriff sailed past his left ear.

Ginny held up the knitted thing she was working on. It was rather shapeless, with dangling bits of yarn in a blinding canary yellow that practically scorched the eyes. "It started out as a hat, but I think it may end up as a blanket."

"It's. . .nice," Harry said, clearly struggling for adjectives.

Ginny examined it and sighed. "It looks like a cat threw up a fur ball, doesn't it? I can't quite get the hang of Muggle knitting. Hermione's been trying to teach me. She says it's relaxing, but I think I may go back to using magic."

She set her knitting on the floor and picked up a book instead. Harry scowled at the title: _Perchance to Dream: A Guide to the Unconscious World._

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked.

"Hermione gave it to me," Ginny said. "It's by some Muggle author she claims is really good at dream interpretation. She's been bringing me lots of books lately. She thinks they might help me understand the dreams I've been having."

"Have you had more?" Harry asked, looking a little alarmed. "I thought. . ."

"No," said Ginny. "The books are interesting, though. Did you know that in dream symbology a crown means knowledge or enlightenment? Of course it can also mean success or pride in achievement, but the placing of a crown on someone's head in a dream generally means that person is endowed with superior intellect or wisdom. What do you think of that?"

"I think you've been spending too much time with Hermione," said Harry. "You're even starting to sound like . . ." He broke off as a pink pygmy puff hit him on the nose.

"Lucky throw," Ginny said.

"I'm under attack by my own son," Harry said ruefully. "He's got a wicked strong arm, though. Pretty fair aim, too." He gave the tip of his nose a thoughtful pinch.

"Maybe he'll be a Chaser, like his mum," said Ginny. "What do you think, James? Would you like to play Chaser on your House Quidditch team?"

"He could be a Seeker, like his dad," Harry countered.

"Da-da!" James observed, waving his arms enthusiastically.

Ginny regarded the pair of them balefully. "It's revolting the way you men stick together."

"I wouldn't take it too much to heart," Harry laughed. "As much as he likes to bash and bang things, he'll probably end up a Beater."

Like Fred and George, Ginny thought. It had been nearly two months since Fred had come to her in a dream, but the more time that passed the more she wondered if it really _had _been Fred or if it hadn't been just a longing that expressed itself in the form of a dream. The books were confusing her. Her own doubts were confusing her.

"You _haven't_ had any more of those dreams, have you?" Harry asked, breaking into Ginny's musings.

"Not for a couple of months," said Ginny. "Why?"

Harry didn't answer right away, but _Summoned_ all the toys James had flung about the room and piled them in front of him. "They make me nervous," he said. "The dreams, I mean."

"I worked that much out already," Ginny said. "Why, though? They're only dreams."

"Are they?" said Harry. "You didn't think so after that dream with Fred. What about that whole business with the girl from Cornwall?"

"I don't know," Ginny sighed. "I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't overhear Fred talking about it once and stored the whole episode in my subconscious or something."

"Do you really believe that?" Harry asked.

"It's what the author of this book would say, but I really don't know what to think anymore. One of the things I remember Remus saying is that the answers would come, but they haven't and now. . . Well, it's like I said, I just don't know what to think."

Harry sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes. James had grown bored with his throwing game and crawled to a nearby chair, which he used to pull himself to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps before his lack of balance made him sit back down on his heavily padded little backside. Harry tried to interest him in the toys again, but he wasn't having it, so Ginny pulled out her own wand and made the plastic creatures hover in mid-air. James watched, enthralled, as they began to move in a slow circle, and grabbed at a blue jobberknoll as it passed overhead.

"Whenever _I_ dream," Harry said quietly, "it's nearly always about you."

Ginny stared, surprised. "The nightmares? They're about. . . me?"

"They have been lately," said Harry.

Ginny didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. "How are they. . . I mean, what are they about?"

"I dream that we're back at Hogwarts and Riddle's taken you into the Chamber of Secrets again. But I can't find you because I'm lost inside a labyrinth of tunnels and I can hear you screaming, but I can't get to you and there's all this blood and I know it's yours. Or we're in the Forbidden Forest and Voldemort is there, surrounded by all his Death Eaters, and he points that wand to deliver the Killing Curse, only this time you're with me and it hits you instead. Or I see everyone who died in the final Battle, all the bodies laid out in the Great Hall the way they actually were, but when I get closer I realize that every one of them is you. . ."

"Harry," Ginny said weakly. "Voldemort is dead. And I'm alive. I'm fine."

"You're _not_ fine," Harry said. "You've had all these bleeding episodes, and you're having dreams about all these people who died. And if it _is_ your subconscious, maybe it's trying to tell you something. Have you ever considered that?"

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, understanding at last the source of his fear, and felt a twinge of guilt for her own part in fueling his anxieties. "Harry, you mustn't. . ."

She broke off at the sound of a tap on the window. An owl was there with a large envelope in its beak. Harry crossed to the window and took the envelope. Ginny felt her heart flutter as she recognized the Ministry seal. They didn't usually send owls to Harry at home unless it was something urgent.

He broke the seal and read the message, his frown deepening as he reached the last lines. "Wait," he said to the owl who was still perched on the windowsill. "You can take a message back."

Ginny knew better than to ask about the letter's content. His work was nearly always shrouded in secrecy and he wouldn't be able to tell her anything even if she asked. Nevertheless, she could not help a tentative inquiry. "Anything wrong?"

"Just something we're monitoring," Harry replied as he searched for a quill in the small writing desk in the corner. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and scribbled a brief note, then sealed it with his wand and handed it to the owl who immediately flew off into the night.

James had taken advantage of his parents' momentary inattention to tangle himself in his mother's yarn. Ginny bent down to extricate her son from the yellow web in which he had ensnared himself, but Harry pushed her hands away.

"I'll do it," he said.

"It's all right. I've nearly got him. . ."

"I said I'll do it!"

Ginny blinked at the sharp edge in his voice, but Harry continued working on the knots James had created without comment.

"I'm going to put him to bed," he said at last. "No, you sit! You shouldn't be going up and down stairs any more than absolutely necessary."

"At least let me kiss him good night."

Harry lifted their son onto her lap. Because he was tired, James permitted her ministrations. He burrowed into her, trying to find space to fit himself around the growing bulge of her belly, and in his soft little voice she heard his sleepy murmur, _"Mum-mum."_

"Did you hear that?" Ginny said excitedly. "He called me Mum-mum!"

Harry smiled. "I heard."

"That's the first time he ever said that! You really do know me, baby, don't you?"

"Of course he knows you," Harry said. "You're his 'Mum-mum.'"

Ginny handed James over reluctantly after one more kiss on each plump little cheek, and watched Harry climb the stairs with him. Too enraptured by her son's recognition to sit still and feeling rather weepy besides (which she suspected had something to do with pregnancy hormones though she would have died before admitting it) Ginny decided to tidy up the mess Harry had made in his search for a quill. And there, on a corner of the desk, was the message from the Ministry.

Ginny stared at it. Usually Harry incinerated these missives as soon as he read them, but apparently forgot to destroy this one. The contents must have shaken him, because he was never normally so careless. Ginny knew she shouldn't read it, knew also that Harry would be angry if she did, but it was just sitting there, lying face up on the desk. Unable to help herself, she leaned ever so slightly closer, and the first line leapt off the page.

_Petroff and Dolohov were both spotted in Dubrovnik . . ._

The name Petroff meant nothing to her, but Dolohov certainly did. Antonin Dolohov was the man who had murdered her uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and killed Remus Lupin during the Battle of Hogwarts. He was currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban for his crimes, so what was he doing in Dubrovnik? She started to read the rest of the letter, but got no further than _". . . this afternoon by Aurors from. . ."_ when Harry's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Ginny hastened to her chair and had just gotten herself settled when Harry entered. He barely glanced at her before hurrying to the desk where she saw him frown at the newly tidied surface. He lifted the parchment, then looked at Ginny, who was making an unsuccessful effort to hide behind her book.

"You read it?" he said.

"Not really," she replied, which was more or less true. She hadn't actually _read_ it, just sort of glanced at it. "I only saw the names. I didn't. . . I mean. . . I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have. . ."

Ginny knew her face was crimson, but Harry didn't seem angry. If anything, his reproach was self-directed. "It's my fault," he sighed. "I should have burnt it right away. Don't know where my head was at, leaving it there that way."

He touched his wand to the parchment and it disappeared in a twinkling, leaving only fragments of ash that fluttered apathetically to the carpet. With another wave of his wand, even that was gone.

"Harry," Ginny said. "I know I shouldn't ask, but . . .Dolohov?"

"Not Antonin," Harry said, dropping into a chair beside her. "He's still in Azkaban. It's his cousin, Andrei."

"Is he a Death Eater too? Or was he?"

"More of a sympathizer and supporter," Harry said. "So was Nicolai Petroff. But I really can't say more than that. We're on top of it. There's nothing to worry about."

Ginny closed her eyes. "Nothing to worry about? Do you really not know what the name Dolohov does to me? Even if it isn't the same one?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish you hadn't seen that message. It was careless of me. . ."

"Is he dangerous? Is he a danger to you?"

Harry gave her a direct, compelling look. "This is my job, Ginny. It's what I do. There's no reason to get upset."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. "What I'd like to know," Ginny said into the silence, "is why it's all right for you to worry about me, but when I worry about you, all I get is, 'Don't get upset.'"

"It's hardly the same. . ."

"How is it different? Do you think I love you any less? Do you think my fears are any less terrifying?"

"I'm just trying to protect. . ."

"Well, maybe I don't want your protection!" Ginny shouted. "When are you going to stop thinking of me as a child you can fob off with platitudes?"

"I don't. . ."

"Yes, you do!" Ginny glared at him. "You always try to protect me, but you put yourself in mortal danger all the time and then tell me I'm not allowed to worry! Well, I've got news for you. I've spent years worrying about you, and I expect to spend a lot more at it before I ever draw a quiet breath. So don't tell me not to worry because I'll worry about you if I damned well feel like it! I'm not fragile, I won't break, and I don't need your bloody protection! Got it?"

Harry stared at her for a minute, then his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "What can I say? Worry away."

Ginny's breath continued to escape in small, indignant huffs, but the smile disarmed her even though she wasn't ready to admit it. "Well, all right then," she said.

"All right," said Harry. "Is it okay if I worry about you too? Just a little?"

"If you must. Though if you don't get Winky and Kreacher off my back, I'm having them both baked in pies."

"Well, we can't have that." Harry moved his chair closer and took her hands. "I'm sorry if I've been a little overbearing."

"A _little_ overbearing?" said Ginny. "My own father never ordered me around that way!"

"I'd like to see him try," Harry grinned. "And you'll trust me not to do anything stupid while I'm out on assignment?

Ginny didn't respond, but gave him a sideways look. "I'm pretty good at what I do, you know," Harry reminded her. "In case you've forgotten, I've been in some very precarious situations. . ."

"And come very close to getting killed," she reminded him in turn.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I'm not an idiot. And I do have quite a lot to live for these days."

"I'm not an idiot either," Ginny said. "And ditto."

"Fair enough," Harry acknowledged. "Will you at least _try_ to take care of yourself?"

"Will you?" asked Ginny.

"I always do."

"Same here."

They stared at each other, but now both were smiling. For some reason, Ginny thought of what Remus had said about fear being the cause of so much pain. Remus, the man who had taught Harry to fight the incarnation of fear, had run from love out of fear of the Dark thing that lived within him. But Harry's problem was that he didn't fear darkness enough. He'd faced too many dark things, both inside and outside himself, for darkness to hold any terrors. What he feared was the loss of light, and it was the same fear that haunted Ginny every time he went on a mission with the Aurors. But she could never ask him to be less than he was. She could either accept him that way, or leave him alone, and leaving him would never be an option for her.

"Just for the record," Harry said, "I don't think of you as a child."

"No?" said Ginny.

"Not at all." His voice was a little huskier than usual. "In fact, I'm very glad you're not."

"Oh?"

They were sitting face to face, knees touching, and she nuzzled the hand he had lifted in an almost involuntary gesture to caress her cheek. He started to pull away, but she was much too quick for him. His Auror-honed instincts always seemed to desert him when it came to defending himself against her.

"Ginny," he said, and the regret in his eyes was eloquent. "We can't."

"_I_ can't," she clarified. "I don't believe the healers said anything about you."

Ginny could see he was sorely tempted. She might have even said he looked wistful except that he was so far beyond wistful it was an entirely different category.

"That's not quite fair to you, is it?" he asked.

"It's called living vicariously. And don't worry. What I have in mind isn't strenuous."

Harry threaded his fingers through her hair. "If you're sure. . ."

"I'm sure that I love you," said Ginny, smiling up at him. "And after all, it's for the greater good."

* * *

**A**_**/N:**__ Ah, well, let's leave them some privacy, shall we? The next chapter is titled "What Dreams May Come." Poll results will be released along with it, so if you haven't voted yet, hop on over to my profile page and cast your ballot. Thanks to everyone who participated thus far, including the wags who chose J.K. Rowling. I added that as a joke, but it cracked me up that several people actually chose it. Although maybe I _should_ do a dream chapter like that. I could have Ginny ask Jo some searing questions about some of her post-DH revelations. (I'm joking! That's a _joke_, people!)_

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers** (this includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses; all others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews; if I miss anyone, please let me know) 

**Mimosa:** Regarding your comment that I am completely and utterly mental: I aim to please. And thank you! As for women going to the loo together, perhaps it's more of an American phenomenon, though one of my British friends tells me she's known a few English women to travel in packs that way. I have no idea why Jo chose Rose & Hugo, but that's my take on it. And no, I haven't been having tea with Ms. Rowling, as she and I differ on some crucial points and they'd probably lob me out of the Ritz via the back door after I finished telling her what I think of some of her post-DH revelations (George & Angelina? Seriously?) Hermione & Ginny's experiences are specific to these pregnancies only. Ginny's problems stem in part from having two babies very close together, which is rough on the reproducive organs, but there are other reasons you'll find out more about later. Hermione, I reckon, has already paid her dues by having so much trouble conceiving, so I thought I'd give her a break during the actual gestation. But don't forget, the really uncomfortable part of pregnancy is yet to come. Hermione's hormones haven't fully kicked in yet, and God help Ron when they do! Ought to be fun.

**harryxxginny66: **I've actually read several fics like the one you described (i.e., Ginny refuses to take Harry back right after the war) but they never struck me as quite "true," so I'm not sure I'd be the right person to write something like that. My own theory is that Ginny _would_ have taken Harry back because, first of all, she's been besotted with him since the age of ten, and second, she really, honestly loves him. However, a simmering resentment may have lingered which is why, in my fics, she puts Harry off for several years when he proposes marriage (_To Hear the Bells_ _Ring_) and her decision to "run off with the Holyhead Harpies" (_The Letter_, Chapter 9) after the war is partially a form of revenge. I think you'll see a little more of that resentment come out in this story. Stay tuned!

**Amy: **I'm glad I'm able to provide regular "fixes" to feed your addiction (I suffer from the same addiction; when I'm not writing I'm surfing for quality stories). I've touched a little on the crown symbol in this chapter, but there will be more with Ron & Hermione, and Rose of course, in future installments.

**Faith: **I'm glad you liked the image of Ron "stalking" his nieces and nephews (can't you see all the Weasley wives locking up their children?). I've touched a bit on the crown image in this chapter. As for Teddy, he will continue to play a role in this story, but I'm not sure how much yet. I'll have to see how he fits in with future plot devices. I still want to write a full-length fic about Teddy as an adult, which will, of course, also feature Victoire.

**Kim:** Yes, I have posted stories on Mugglenet (the same ones that I have on this site) but I'm getting a little fed up with some of their processes and may not post there in the future. You'll always be able to find me on FFN, though.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERW:** Thanks a lot! I really appreciate your reviews. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

**Jacqueline:** Glad you're enjoying it. I'll try to keep the updates coming as quickly as possible.


	11. Chapter 11: What Dreams May Come

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ This is a relatively long chapter, but there are some fairly complex concepts here that really can't be expressed in a short form. I'm sure that many of you will have a lot of questions after reading this, but if I may borrow a phrase from Remus Lupin, the answers will come in the fullness of time. Poll results are shown at the end of the chapter, though I can tell you right now that only four percent got it right (which means I'm either doing something very right or very, very wrong, I suppose). But take heart! The story is far from over, and keep something in mind that we all learned long ago: seven is the most powerfully magical number. And on that cryptic note . . ._

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**Chapter Ten**

_What Dreams May Come_

Molly's solution for nearly every problem had always been to feed it. She had been like that when her children came down with colds or dragon pox, and as far as she was concerned, emotional ills were the same. In the days after Fred's death, while the family stumbled around in a haze of tears, Molly had cooked incessantly and it wasn't until the largely uneaten food started to pile up that she realized her behavior was a little obsessive and finally began the process of healing her own grief. But the habit was far too firmly ingrained not to persist, and when Molly realized that her normally vibrant daughter seemed a little down, she knew just what to do.

Ginny was not especially surprised when her mother turned up at Grimmauld Place shortly before Christmas with enough food to wait out a siege. Her parents were leaving for Romania soon to spend the holidays with Charlie, which would also give Molly an opportunity to investigate the "rumors" of her son's living arrangements (Merlin help Charlie, Ginny thought, pitying her brother). But of course Mum, being Mum, had to stop by ahead of time to ensure that no one starved in her absence.

"I don't trust that house-elf," Molly sniffed, casting a suspicious eye at the corner behind which Kreacher had just skulked, offended by the criticism of his cooking implied by all the covered dishes. "There's something shifty about him."

"Kreacher's all right," said Ginny. "He grows on you."

"Mm," Molly said. "A bit like fungus. Where's Harry, by the way?"

"Croatia," Ginny said.

"Croatia? What on earth is he doing in Croatia?"

Ginny gave her mother a look. "Oh," said Molly. "I should have known better than to ask. Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"I'm glad _you're_ so confident."

"Now, Ginny, if anyone knows how to look after himself. . ."

"It's not that," Ginny said. "It's just that he's no sooner home when he's called out again. He's been working on an important assignment, which of course I know next to nothing about, and they've got him running in a hundred different directions while I'm stuck in this bloody house with a bloody baby and two bloody house-elves watching my bloody fingernails grow."

Molly scowled at her daughter's language, but refrained from commenting. "How did your appointment with the midwitch go this morning?"

"Fine," Ginny replied dully. "Bleeding's stopped. Baby's growing. Everything's bloody, freaking fabulous."

"Then why are you so down?"

"Because I'm so mind-numbingly _bored_ I'd like to scream until my throat is raw," Ginny said. "I swear there are times when I feel like dragging the portrait of Sirius's mother down from the attic just for the conversation. Even if all she does is shriek at me what a filthy blood-traitor I am."

"Well, if the bleeding has stopped, why not get out? Do some Christmas shopping or something."

"Because I'm not allowed to Apparate or use the Floo Network," said Ginny. "The healers think the squeezing and spinning will start the bleeding up again. So that leaves brooms, which I'm not allowed to use either, or Muggle transport, which is crowded and uncomfortable at the best of times. If you have any other ideas, I'm open to suggestion."

Molly, whose loathing of non-magical travel was legend, shuddered. "What about your friends? Hermione or that Luna girl?"

"Luna's out of the country, chasing some blubbering, blibbering something or other," said Ginny of her naturalist friend. "And Hermione's hunkered down with her studies. She's determined to get her certificate in magical law before their baby is born, so she's totally focused on that, and I've just been stuck here. I really think I'm going mad some days, Mum."

"You're not going mad," said Molly, who knew how difficult it must be for her daughter, who had always been active, to wait out something like this. Still, Molly also knew how serious the situation was. It made her heart clench to think of it, but the baby's survival wasn't the only thing at stake. The latest episode that landed Ginny in hospital again had frightened the entire family, and it was a strain on everyone not to hover because the danger was very real. But excessive sympathy would only sink Ginny into even deeper gloom, not to mention earn the sympathizer a good, swift kick in the shins. The solution would be something to keep her mind busy, and suddenly Molly had it. It seemed to arrive from out of the blue, but it was pure genius, really.

"You've always liked to write," Molly suggested in a burst of inspiration. "Seems to me this would be an ideal time to pursue new avenues."

"And what would I write about?" said Ginny. "All I know is Quidditch."

"You know a lot of things, dear," Molly said. "You're a reporter, aren't you? And after all, you had a front row seat at some of the most dramatic events in wizarding history."

Ginny looked surprised. "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know," said Molly, looking a little surprised herself. "It just. . . came to me all of a sudden. But now I think about it, it seems like a good idea."

"You think I should write about . . . that?"

"Why not? Enough rubbish has been written by people without a clue about what really happened."

Ginny knew exactly what she was talking about. A great many accounts had been published after what was now being called the Second Wizarding War. These had included an unauthorized biography by Rita Skeeter titled, _Harry Potter: Hero or Zero,_ in which she dredged up the old rumor that Harry had been hiding from Voldemort in the year before his great victory and that he, Ron, and Hermione had cooked up the story about Horcruxes to make themselves look more heroic than they really were. There was an enormous hue and cry when the book came out, along with suggestions about what Skeeter could do her with her Quick-Quotes Quill, and several volunteers actually offered to help her do it. Unfortunately, the publicity only seemed to increase curiosity about the book, which ended up selling a record number of copies. Harry himself had taken the whole thing in stride. He'd never asked to be a hero and didn't care whether or not anyone thought of him that way. The people he really cared about knew the truth, which was all that mattered to him, but Ginny had been outraged on his behalf, as had all the Weasleys. Still, to write about those events herself? She wasn't sure she was ready for that. She wasn't sure any of them were ready for it.

"I'll think about it," Ginny said, even though she had absolutely no intention of following through on her mother's suggestion.

No sooner had Molly left, however, when Ginny found herself drawn to the old library which Harry had turned into a study. He was the only one who ever really used it. There was room enough for two desks, but Ginny preferred the small writing desk in the sitting room which was sunnier and cheerier than the stuffy old library. It was also closer to the center of the house which enabled her to dash up to the nursery or down to the kitchen as needed. _Not_ that I've been doing much dashing anywhere these days, Ginny thought with a sigh.

The library, now a study, smelled of wood polish and parchment, and a faint odor of mustiness emanated from old books stacked on shelves lining the room, many dating back to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They'd weeded through and destroyed all the books on Dark Magic (some of which had put up quite a fight), but a number of older volumes remained, including several portfolio-like notebooks containing records of the Order of the Phoenix, left there from the time when this house had been their headquarters. Neither Ginny nor Harry had ever looked through these records. It had been far too painful to think about reading the names of individuals they would never see again, or pore over minutes of meetings attended by those whose voices were forever silenced. But Ginny took a few of the notebooks now and sat in one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire where she began to leaf through them.

There were photographs in the first album, including one of the original Order. Ginny recognized Remus and Sirius, both achingly young and as yet unravaged by bitterness as they smiled up at her. With a jolt, she also recognized Harry's parents. From the slight swelling beneath Lily's robes, Ginny thought she must have been pregnant with Harry when this picture was taken. There were Frank and Alice Longbottom, now living out their days at St. Mungo's in a dreamy twilight that was perhaps kinder than the anguish Neville and his grandmother still endured. There was Peter Pettigrew, the traitor who betrayed Harry's parents. Elphias Dodge, whom she remembered seeing at Bill and Fleur's wedding, stood next to Dumbledore whose face was as kindly and serene as ever. A woman whom Ginny believed was called Marlene McKinnon sat beside Benjy Fenwick, an old friend of her parents'. There was Mad-Eye Moody before he lost his eye, and Edgar Bones - Ginny remembered his niece, Susan, from school. And of course Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Molly's brothers. Ginny knew that it had taken five Death Eaters to bring her uncles down, but it was Antonin Dolohov who dealt the final blow. Dolohov, whose cousin Andrei, a Voldemort sympathizer and supporter, was currently in Croatia. Where Harry was.

Ginny closed the notebook, feeling ill again. She would never be able to write about the people she actually knew if seeing those who were, for the most part, strangers to her affected her this way. Life was so bloody unfair sometimes. So many good people had died and others would go the same way if another Dark Wizard ever rose to power, which was probably inevitable, given the nature of power itself. It wasn't fair, but whoever said life was fair? It wasn't fair that she and Hermione had both gotten pregnant at the same time, and yet Hermione was blooming, studying for a new career in wizarding law while she, Ginny, had been forced to give up her job, albeit temporarily, and was trapped in this gloomy old house because her own stupid body had betrayed her. Betrayals, Ginny thought bitterly, didn't get much more personal than that.

Why this had happened was still a struggle for her. Ginny knew the reasons, at least the medical ones. The healers had already explained about back-to-back pregnancies increasing the risk for complications in ways that not even magic could overcome. Of course she hadn't planned to get pregnant again so soon. They'd even taken precautions to prevent it, yet here she was, five months later, fighting for her life in addition to that of her unborn child, and what the hell was _that_ about, and where was the sense in it? But she knew the reason for that too, and it made her feel angry and weepy concurrently to think of it, because they had been so bloody _happy_ during that weekend at Rose Cottage, and how could anything so beautiful have led to so much pain?

There was a burning behind her eyes. Ginny felt disgusted with herself. Self-pity, she thought. Surely the most obnoxious of emotions. But she was by herself and there didn't seem to be any way of stopping it. She placed the leather-bound volumes on the floor and closed her eyes. Maybe if she rested for awhile, it would all go away. Perhaps if she went to sleep, all the memories would disappear and never come back.

* * *

_Ginny realized that she was not alone. At first she only sensed another presence in the room, and then she saw someone sitting in an armchair across from her. In the dying light of the fire it was hard to make out who it was, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw a man with long white hair and a long white beard that reached nearly to the tops of his boots. His blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles, and he smiled as he surveyed her over the tips of his long fingers, pressed together to form a kind of steeple. _

_"Miss Weasley," he said, as Ginny half rose in shocked surprise. He placed a hand over his heart and gave an apologetic little bow. "I beg your pardon, I meant Mrs. Potter of course."_

_Ginny sank back into her chair. "Who are you?"_

_"Who do you think I am?"_

_"You look like Professor Albus Dumbledore. But you can't be Professor Dumbledore because Professor Dumbledore is dead, and I'm sitting here talking to you, so you can't be him. Can you?"_

_"I could be many things. I could be the voice of your conscience. I could be the Ghost of Christmas Past. But since your memory gives me the appearance of Albus Dumbledore, perhaps it would be best to think of me that way."_

_Ginny surveyed her surroundings. The room looked exactly as it had moments ago. And yet here she sat, talking to her former headmaster, a man who had been moldering in a white marble tomb on the Hogwarts grounds for more than eight years._

_"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Ginny said._

_"What do you think?"_

_Here we go again, Ginny thought with a sigh. "Why are you here, Professor? And am I speaking to your spirit, or whatever it is that you are?"_

_"Spirit," said Dumbledore with a reflective gleam in his eyes. "Now there's an interesting word. The vital principle or animating force behind all living beings. From the Latin 'Spiritus,' the divine spark from whence comes the word 'inspiration.' Funny thing, inspiration. It often derives from the most mundane. . ."_

_"Professor," Ginny interrupted, as Dumbledore appeared to be going off on a tangent of some sort. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but. . .?"_

_"Yes, of course. I do apologize. You see, Ginny . . . I may call you Ginny? As you have already rightfully surmised, you are in that state of unconsciousness known as sleep. When you sleep there is a part of you that is always awake, and that part has the ability to pass between the worlds of life and death. You may not always remember it, but in dreams all your memories come to life and therein lies your connection with those who have gone before."_

_"But dreams aren't true," said Ginny, feeling an inexplicable sense of disappointment. "They aren't real. They're only . . . dreams."_

_"What is reality? Are thoughts and feelings not real? Is love itself not a very real and tangible thing? Dreams are a merging of mind, body and spirit, and it is from spirit that all life springs. The child in your womb began with a dream. It is love manifest, and that, my dear Ginny, is one of the truest things in the universe."_

_"The child," Ginny said, suddenly mindful of a question that had been plaguing her. "The others said these dreams are connected to the child I'm carrying."_

_"And they were quite right. Birth and death are not unalike, you know. The portal to one is the gateway to the other, and the child has given you a temporary glimpse into that portal."_

_"So this child. . . can see spirits?"_

_"Most children can, before they become blinded by that we adults call reality. Being so much closer to the source of all Creation, they often see things that we dismiss as fantasy, even lies, when in fact what they see is part of The Infinite. This child may not retain that ability into adulthood, but I have a feeling he will always be a little more sensitive than average."_

_"He?" Ginny said, feeling a smile creep around her lips. "It's a boy?"_

_"Oh, dear," said Dumbledore, looking rather nonplussed. "Well, I've let _that _cat out of the bag, haven't I? I hope you didn't want it to be a surprise."_

_"I'm not fussed," Ginny admitted. "But what I really want to know is . . . The others said this child is special."_

_"That is one way of putting it," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But keep in mind that all of us has something special to bring to the world. No one is ever born with more than the potential for greatness. What we do with our native talents is largely up to us and, to a certain extent, our upbringing. Your job will be to love him, guide him, and support him so that he can discover for himself what he has to offer. Though of course this is no more than I would expect you to do with any child, whether your own or that of another. A perfect example is young Teddy Lupin, a child you have taken to your heart. And he, too, is a child of special abilities."_

_"Special abilities?" said Ginny. "Oh! You mean because he's a metamorphmagus?"_

_Dumbledore nodded. "That is one of his gifts, certainly."_

_"Are you telling me, Professor, that my child will have some unique ability, such as the power to morph into different forms?"_

_"In the case of your child, it has more to do with the spirit," Dumbledore replied. "Beyond that, however, I cannot say."_

_Ginny fought down a tide of frustration. "Excuse me, Professor, but isn't that kind of a . . ."_

_"I believe the word you are searching for is 'cheat,'" said Dumbledore, the mouth behind the long white beard twitching in amusement. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but at the risk of seeming a piker, a little air of mystery isn't always a bad thing. It's never good for anyone to know too much about his or her own future, and for parents to know too much about the future of their child is equally unwise. Besides, the future itself is largely unwritten. Within certain parameters, destiny is there for us to pen in our own distinctive hand, very much as you write your newspaper columns. You wouldn't write about a match before it had been played, would you?"_

_"Well, no," Ginny said. "But it is possible to make reasonable predictions based on certain criteria: the strength of the players, the speed and precision of their brooms, weather conditions. . ."_

_"Yes, of course, but I think you would agree that a great deal can occur to affect the outcome. A missing player, for example, affects the entire team. No, it would be foolhardy to predict all the winners and losers in advance. It's best to let the game play itself out, I think."_

_A missing player, Ginny thought. She was beginning to grasp the metaphor and it worried her a little. "You said, 'within certain parameters.' What does that mean?"_

_"Well, to borrow an old expression, one can't make a race horse out of a pig," Dumbledore replied. "On the other hand, it is possible to make a very fast pig."_

_"So what you're saying is that my child will be born with certain gifts, but it'll be up to him to decide what to do with them?"_

_"A very succinct and accurate analysis of the human condition," Dumbledore said with another little bow, as if she had just answered a difficult classroom question._

_"Can you tell me this much at least, Professor? If this baby is so special, then why has my pregnancy been so difficult? More than once I've come close to losing him. If the child is important, then why has this been so hard?"_

_"Because the best nearly always comes at the price of great pain," Dumbledore said sadly. "There is perhaps no greater example of that than the man to whom your life is now unalterably bound. I do not need to tell you the ways in which Harry has suffered. You witnessed them yourself and, I think, to a certain extent, you still do. But Harry's greatest victory was the goodness of his heart that enabled him to rise from the devastation meted out to him to become stronger, better, wiser. He is not unlike the phoenix, you know."_

_The phoenix, Ginny thought. The Order of the Phoenix was destroyed once, but it rose again and they continued to fight even after they were very nearly destroyed a second time. Dumbledore's Army had come out of that, and it too had almost been destroyed. But Ginny herself had helped rebuild it, and they fought on until Harry literally rose from the ashes of all the destruction to achieve the final victory. To be sure, their losses had been shattering, but perhaps even that was mere illusion. Spiritus, Ginny thought wonderingly. The divine spark._

_"Professor," Ginny said, for there was something else she needed to understand. "Why am I being given this glimpse into what you call 'The Infinite?'"_

_"There's not a simple answer," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps it could best be summed up in the words of a Muggle playwright who wrote something I've always considered very wise: 'For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.'" He added, rather unnecessarily it seemed to Ginny, "_Hamlet_, Act Three, Scene One."_

_"Sorry," Ginny said, shaking her head in confusion. "I'm afraid you've lost me."_

_"Why don't you tell me what you think it means," said Dumbledore. "It might be illuminating."_

_Ginny considered for a moment and then regurgitated one of the books Hermione had given her. "I think these dreams are a series of sensations, images, emotions, and thoughts that are passing through my mind. It's like a puzzle that I'm meant to work out, but haven't yet. That's it, isn't it? Is that what this this is all about?"_

_Her voice practically begged him to say yes, but his smile was sad, if understanding. "My dear, there are so many things in this world that defy logic. The heart is a much better guide than the head in such matters. You have a good heart, Ginny. You must learn to trust it."_

_"But I want to understand. I want to, and yet I can't."_

_"There are some things you are not meant to understand," Dumbledore replied. "You are meant only to feel them and know by the strength of your feelings whether or not they are true. And now I'm afraid I must leave you."_

_"But Professor. . ."_

_"Goodbye, my dear," said Albus Dumbledore. "For now."_

* * *

The fire had nearly died out when Ginny opened her eyes again. The room was empty and she was quite alone. But the portfolio with the photographs of the original Order of the Phoenix lay open on her lap, even though she distinctly recalled having placed it on the floor. 

The dream, Ginny thought. It was the strangest one yet, but also the most powerful and it was not something she wanted share with anyone, at least not until she understood it better herself. It was something she needed to hold in her heart, ponder in her head, and feel at the deepest level of her soul before she let it out into the world to be corrupted by either logic or uncertainty.

As she thought these things, the child in her womb gave the tiniest flutter, like the brushing of wings against the inner wall of her. Ginny placed her hand on the place where she had felt the quickening, and tears sprang to her eyes at the recognition of what had just occurred. Whether it had been illusion or reality, the dream contained the spirit of the man she once knew, and there was no longer any doubt in Ginny's mind what this child's name must be.

And that was why she cried, because she realized she'd forgotten to tell him. Although, on some level, she thought he already knew.

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_**A/N:**__ Okay, poll results. Out of 81 people who voted, 41 percent chose Lily and James; 23 percent chose Sirius; 16 percent, Snape; 4 percent each for Dumbledore, Colin Creevey, and J.K. Rowling. One person selected Dobby, and nobody chose Hedwig. For those who are disappointed by this chapter's ghostly "visitor" just remember what I said earlier: seven is the most powerfully magical number. Thanks to everyone who participated. Another update will be posted soon. _

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**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers** (this includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses; all others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews; if I miss anyone, please let me know) 

**Mimosa: **Thanks for the commiseration. Things have settled down, as they tend to do (the faucets are fixed and the dog is feeling better anyway). That last chapter, as I told several reviewers, was kind of a "sandwich" with substance packed between nice warm slices of fluff, though the substance part will probably seem more significant in retrospect. I think Ginny understands Harry pretty well, but you're right, he should never assume she has a mirror to his mind. Men sometimes assume women know what they're thinking, and that's usually not the case. They also sometimes assume they know what women are thinking, and that's _never _the case. Ah, well, at least I can make it work in fiction.

**Faith: **I agree that we were rather "stiffed"on Harry/Ginny interaction in the series, which is actually the main reason I started writing fanfics in the first place. It always struck me as strange that in a series whose central theme was love, we saw so little of one of the most (if not _the_ most) important loving relationships in Harry's life. I found it especially odd after I read an interview Jo gave in which she said, "Harry and Ginny are soul mates with a passionate connection." In my opinion, both the passion and the connection were AWOL in Books 1-7.

**ChickenChild:** I'm really glad you're enjoying the dreams. I was a bit nervous about the "Fred" chapter as I really wasn't sure I'd captured his personality just right, but the response indicated that I had and of course that was very gratifying. Hope I've done as well with Dumbledore in this chapter.

**camron: **Thank you! I'll try to get another chapter up soon.


	12. Chapter 12: Nargles in the Mistletoe

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ If this chapter feels a little disjointed, it's because I wrote it with a fever and a deep, racking cough. I came down with a cold a few weeks ago that has turned into a raging holocaust in my chest, so there might be a delay before I can get the next chapter posted as I'll be busy collapsing a lung or two while I wait for the antibiotics to kick in. So if this seems a little choppy (it seems that way to me, but then, my head is fogged up) please excuse. I'll try to do better next time._

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**Chapter Eleven**

_Nargles in the Mistletoe_

Ginny met Harry in the entrance hall with a squeal of delight and a flurry of flying hair.

"I missed you so much!" she said, pulling him down to kiss every part of him she could reach. "I adore you! Oh, Harry. . ."

"What on earth. . ." said Harry, stunned by the unexpected enthusiasm of her greeting. "What is all this?"

"It's Christmas Eve!" she said. "You're home! And I feel _wonderful_! No bleeding or cramping in _weeks_, and I have so much _energy_, and the baby is kicking, and you're home and . . . Oh, Harry, I love you. Just kiss me!"

Harry complied with the greatest pleasure, and when they broke apart he couldn't help staring, dumbstruck by the transformation. When he left just three weeks ago, Ginny had been gloomy and miserable, sick and sad, and he had worried so much about leaving her, though the crisis that called him away had given him little choice. But now she was like a flame, all fire and warmth, seemingly full of glowing health and bright vivaciousness. She was Ginny again, his life, his love, and seeing her this way was the best Christmas present he could have received.

Ginny led him to James, who seemed to have grown by leaps and bounds in Harry's absence, and had mastered walking well enough to start running, though he still tended to fall down a lot. It didn't seem to bother him, however, as he simply pushed himself up and kept running, and everything he saw excited him. The previous Christmas he had been just a babe in arms, but this year he was old enough to see, hear and be awed, and to his parents it made the holiday even more special. The tree fascinated him, and though he seemed to regard tinsel as something good to eat, for the most part he was content to stare, bright-eyed with wonder, while his mum and dad watched him, reveling in his delight. James had celebrated his first birthday just before Harry went away, a toddler now who roamed wherever his curiosity led him. He loved to poke, prod, and grab things, and his father's glasses were soon covered in fingerprints as James repeatedly yanked them off his face.

But James was still a baby who needed cuddles and kisses, and it occurred to Ginny that Harry had not been much older than this when his parents were killed. Who had kissed him goodnight, or hugged him when he fell and scraped his knees? Not his aunt, that was certain. Ginny thought of the thin, horse-face woman she had met just once when she and Harry became engaged and went to Little Whinging to offer them an invitation to the wedding. Petunia had looked frightened, angry, and resentful of the intrusion into her precious "normal" life, and after a short, awkward visit, during which she made it painfully clear they had no intention of attending any wizarding ceremony, she seemed only too glad to see the back of them. As for her husband, Vernon Dursley would sooner have ripped out his moustache one whisker at a time as accept their invitation, and Ginny was fine with this, as she would sooner have had an Acromantula at her wedding. Harry's uncle made no effort to hide his disdain for his freakish nephew, and his cold, piggy eyes made Ginny long for her wand, which Harry had forced her to leave at home, knowing full well the temptation might prove irresistible.

Ginny had been prepared to dislike Dudley as well, having heard all the tales of his bullying, but Harry's cousin had been friendly and actually promised to attend the wedding. He showed up alone, however, and sat through the exchange of vows with a bewildered expression that changed to alarm when Arthur cornered him at the reception and peppered him with questions about Muggles. Ginny rescued her new cousin-in-law by asking him to dance, and Dudley surprised her by turning out to be a fairly good dancer. She recalled the fact that the reception had come to a virtual halt at the sight of the slender, red-haired witch, who looked exceptionally pretty in a long white gown embroidered with lilies in honor of Harry's mother, dancing with the blonde, bulky, muscle-bound Muggle. Everyone else had stopped dancing to watch, and even the band stopped playing after a few minutes. Fortunately, Auntie Muriel had created a distraction by tripping head-first into the wedding cake, and the party resumed with laughter after extricating her, indignant and fuming, from the frosting.

Ginny thought about this as Harry sat with James in a chair near the fire, reading him some silly Muggle poem called, _A Visit from St. Nicolas_. Had Fred _really_ been responsible for Muriel's undignified tumble, or had she simply invented that because it seemed so much like something Fred might have done? Even after her latest ghostly "visit," Ginny had doubts. It had been like that after each dream, an initial burst of certainty followed by questions, and finally the realization that she could account for every one of those revelations as tricks of her own subconscious. And yet. . . and yet. . . How could she have known Hermione was pregnant without that tip from Remus and Tonks? Or had Ginny wanted it so much for her brother and sister-in-law that she simply wished it into the dream? But what about the girl from Cornwall? Ginny was certain she had never heard the word 'callipygian' before. Unless, as she had already theorized to Harry, it was something she'd overheard long ago and stored in her subconscious, bringing it out at a stressful time when it comforted her to think that her brother had never truly gone away.

That last dream, though. It had been Dumbledore to the _life,_ and how could she have imagined a conversation that she'd never had with the late headmaster when he was alive? Of course Harry had many such conversations with Dumbledore and he'd described them to her in detail, so perhaps that was the source. Even so, why was it that, at a time when she was focused on preserving and bringing forth new life, she kept dreaming of the dead? It was puzzling and a little disturbing, though her initial reaction to all the dreams had been far from troubled. If anything, she had experienced a feeling of elation after each one, and only afterward had the doubts and disquiet set in.

Ginny was distracted from her musings by the sound of Harry's voice, saying, "On Dasher and Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen!" Prancer and Vixen? What sort of rubbish was he reading?

"By the way," Ginny said, interrupting the dash to the top of the wall, "I've come to terms with your idea for naming this baby."

Harry looked up. "You're okay with Severus?"

"Not in a million years!" Ginny replied, glaring. "I was talking about Albus. I think that's what we should call him."

"That's great," Harry replied, smiling. "But only if it's a boy. Because if it turns out to be a girl, a name like that might border on child abuse."

"Oh, it's a boy," Ginny said positively.

"Did the healers tell you? I thought we agreed . . ."

"The healers didn't say anything," Ginny said. "It just feels like a boy."

Harry looked at her for a minute, then shrugged. "Well, you have a fifty-fifty chance of being right, I suppose."

At least, Ginny thought. "There's one more thing," she said. "I've decided to write a history of the Order of the Phoenix."

"What?" Harry looked startled. "When did you decide this?"

"A few days after you left," Ginny replied. "Mum suggested it. Sort of."

Harry stared, ignoring James's persistent little hand patting the pictures in the book his father still held in front of him, even though these pictures, unlike those in his wizard storybooks, didn't move.

"Well," Harry said finally. "You're full of surprises."

"Why? Don't you think it's a good idea?"

"I think it's a brilliant idea," said Harry. "We have all those documents and photos, and you have access to all the surviving Order members. Well, some are even family members. Your parents and Bill and Charlie, and the others are only a Floo or an owl away. You could probably do most of the research without ever leaving the house."

"That's pretty much what I thought," Ginny said. "Actually, I've already started writing it."

"Have you? That's wonderful, Ginny. I'd love to read it. That is, whenever you're ready to show me."

Ginny hesitated, but only for a moment. She had been nervous about telling Harry, unsure how he would react to her new project, but it had been her salvation. In the past few weeks she had pored over all the records in the library, making notes and writing letters to surviving Order members with requests for interviews after the holidays. Her years as a sports reporter had given her ample research and interviewing skills, and she felt confident moving forward, with an assurance she had not experienced in months. Ideas kept coming to her at the oddest times, floating into her brain unbidden, and more than once she recalled what Dumbledore had said in her dream about the source of inspiration. Perhaps the dreams had nothing to do with it, but it felt wonderful to be productive again, and it had made all the difference in her attitude, not to mention her health.

Feeling buoyed by Harry's response, she went to the Christmas tree and selected one of the wrapped packages beneath it, then crossed to where he sat with James in his lap. "It's only the introduction, but. . . Anyway, Happy Christmas."

Harry set James on the floor where he soon became happily engaged in tearing the paper his father ripped off the package. He uncovered a stationary box and raised the lid to reveal a title page.

_FROM THE ASHES_

_The Order of the Phoenix __1976-1998_

_By Ginevra Potter_

He lifted the top sheet, and his eyes were suddenly overbright when he read the dedication:

_To Harry . . . __Always my inspiration_

Harry gently replaced the lid and set the box aside, then he stood and placed his arms around Ginny. "Thank you. I love you."

"You're welcome," she said. "And I know."

"Do you know how much?"

"I have a pretty good idea." She placed both hands on her rounded belly. "Here's proof."

Harry chuckled. Placing his hands on either side of hers, he addressed the roundness. "Hi, Albus. I'm your dad."

The baby chose that moment to give a little kick. "Oh, my!" said Ginny. "I think he knows his name."

"I felt that!" Harry ran his hands over Ginny's stomach, then looked down at James who was having a wonderful time creating confetti out of the wrapping paper.

"I'm rich," Harry said simply. "I am a rich man."

Ginny looked up as he drew her closer. "Pity there's no mistletoe."

"Who needs mistletoe?" asked Harry, bending to kiss her.

"True," Ginny said. "It'd probably just be full of Nargles anyway."

Harry paused in his perusal of his wife's lips to ask, "I don't suppose Luna ever told you what Nargles _are_, did she?"

"Once," Ginny admitted. "And I still have no idea."

* * *

The Potters were anticipating a relatively quiet Christmas. Bill and Fleur had gone to France, Percy and Penelope were spending the day with the Clearwaters, and George and Katie had gone to Romania with Molly and Arthur. But Teddy and his grandmother planned to join them, as did Ron and Hermione. 

Whenever Andromeda Tonks smiled, the resemblance between her and her sister Bellatrix was much less pronounced, and she always smiled when she entered the sitting room at Grimmauld Place where the Black Family Tree was now concealed behind an extra wall.

"You've really swept the Blacks out of this house," she said approvingly, while Teddy sat on the floor with James, trying to teach the younger boy to say his name. He had already succeeded in getting a "Teh-eee" out of him, though it was unclear whether or not James associated the sound he was making with the boy in front of him, whose hair that day was a festive combination of red and green.

"Just out of idle curiosity," said Andromeda, as Harry handed her a glass of sherry, "whatever became of those horrible shrunken house-elf heads that used to grace the wall near the stairs?"

"Kreacher proved rather adept at removing permanent sticking charms," Harry explained. "He just needed a little persuasion was all."

"I'm impressed," said Andromeda, lifting a polite brow. "And frankly amazed that you were also able to convince him to remove that dreadful portrait of my aunt. From what I was told, he was completely devoted to the mad thing."

"I can't take credit for that one," said Harry, smiling. "That was Ginny's doing."

"I merely suggested that Mrs. Black might be more comfortable away from the noise and confusion of the main floor," said Ginny, who had personally overseen the removal of Wallburga Black's portrait to the attic where Kreacher now lived and where Harry and Ginny suspected (they'd never asked, not really wanting to know) that he had long conversations with his old mistress in the evenings.

"Clever girl," said Andromeda. "Aunt Wallburga was the best argument against inbreeding I ever knew, but she did have a way of inspiring the most intense devotion in her servants."

Andromeda's memories were interrupted by the arrival of Ron and Hermione who came bearing gifts, including a suspiciously long, thin package with James's name on it.

"Ron," Ginny said warningly. "I told you he's too young. . ."

"You told me not to get him a toy broomstick for his first birthday," Ron countered. "And I didn't. This is his Christmas gift."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione apologized. "He wouldn't listen, not that that's a first."

"Sirius got Harry his first toy broomstick when he was a year old," Ron argued. "And Harry got one for Teddy. I'm James's godfather. Do you want me to look like a piker?"

"It'll be all right, Ginny," said Harry as he helped James unwrap the broom. "We'll keep an eye on him. It's not like we're going to be turning him loose over Heathrow or anything."

James seemed far more interested in the wrapping paper than the gift, but they set him on the broom, and then Ron, Harry and Teddy chased him round the house while the women scurried about moving objects out of the way. Even with their efforts, James managed to break a vase, knock over a lamp, and crash headlong into the Christmas tree, which scared the daylights out of everyone, though thankfully James wasn't hurt. They spent the next half hour opening gifts which included new Weasley jumpers for everyone (Molly had left them prior to her departure) and a wizard chess set for Teddy, which Ron helped him set up while Harry helped James open a set of stackable rings that played different tunes when fit properly together.

Ginny watched Teddy while Ron explained the rules of wizard chess, and the look of concentration on the little boy's face reminded her so much of Remus that she felt her heart catch. She glanced at Andromeda and wondered if she saw the same thing, or if she was seeing in her grandson's heart-shaped face an echo of her daughter. Andromeda had lost even more than the Weasleys had, but the slightly forbidding aura the older woman radiated discouraged both sympathy and intimacy, which made it all the more puzzling that Molly had grown so close to her since the war. It probably had to do with the shared grief of losing a child, but Ginny also suspected the bond was at least partially based on the fact that Molly had killed Andromeda's sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, who had murdered her only child.

Lunch was served in the dining room and everyone tucked into roast turkey with all the trimmings. They all ate heartily, especially Hermione who shoveled food into her mouth as if she had not eaten in weeks. Her appetite had been prodigious of late, and Ron, whom she had always critcized for stuffing himself, regarded her with frank admiration.

"Just think," said Hermione between mouthfuls. "This time next year we'll have our own. . .our own. . ." For no reason at all that anyone could tell, she burst into tears and sobbed into her serviette.

"Hermione?" said Harry. "Are you all right?"

"She's been doing that a lot lately," Ron explained. "I think it's the. . .you know." He looked around the table, then whispered something to Harry behind his hand.

"It's _not_ hormones!" Hermione snapped. "I've told you a million times, Ron, pregnancy affects each woman differently. I'm not experiencing mood swings or anything like that."

"Of course not, sweetheart," Ron said. "It's just that you've been a little emotional. . ."

"I have _not_ been emotional!" Hermione replied shrilly. "Wouldn't I know it if I was? I've been reading everything I can find on pregnancy, and I'd certainly know if I was emotional, wouldn't I?" And with that, she burst into tears again.

Harry was concealing a smile with difficulty. "So, Ron," he said. "Tell us about this expansion plan you have for the joke shop."

"Well, it's, er. . ." said Ron, darting nervous looks at Hermione, who had stopped crying and started eating again with barely a pause for breath. Fearful of saying anything lest he get into trouble, he tossed the ball back to Harry. "Why don't you tell us about your trip to Croatia. How did that go?"

"It was interesting, to say the least," Harry replied. "Unfortunately, I may have to go back after the first of the year."

"What?" said Ginny. "You just got home!"

"I know, love, and I'm sorry," Harry said. "I thought it was all settled, but after that owl I got this morning. . . Well, it may be unavoidable."

Ginny recalled the owl tapping at their bedroom window early that morning, but she'd been too sleepy to register anything except annoyance that the Ministry was sending owls to their home on Christmas Day. Although if the situation was serious enough to bother Harry on a holiday. . .

"Ish inning wif looshusmafoo realiss fum ashcan?" asked Hermione through a mouthful of sprouts.

"Sorry?" said Harry. "I didn't quite catch that."

Hermione swallowed and said, "Gosh! Don't know why I'm so hungry all the time. What I wanted to know was, does the situation in Croatia have anything to do with Lucius Malfoy's release from Azkaban?"

Andromeda looked suddenly bloodless. "Did I hear correctly? Lucius Malfoy is being released from Azkaban?"

"He was sentenced to seven years," Harry replied in a quiet voice of deep understanding. "It'll be up on New Year's Day."

"Seven years," Andromeda said bitterly. "You call that a just punishment?"

"No, I don't," Harry admitted. "But that's the sentence he received. If it makes you feel any better, Andromeda, he's a broken man. His time in Azkaban has taken its toll. I haven't seen him myself, but from what others have told me, he's a shadow of his former self."

"But he's alive," Andromeda said. "My so-called sister's husband lives, while Ted. . . And they have their son. Narcissa has her child."

No one seemed to know how to respond. The silence around the table was heavy, and finally Andromeda stood up. "I believe I need some air."

They all watched her go. Harry hesitated a moment, then heaved a long sigh and went after her.

Hermione looked stricken. "I thought she _knew_! After all, it was in the _Prophet_. . ."

"Andromeda doesn't take the _Prophet_," Ginny said. "I'm sorry, Hermione, you could have no way of knowing, but she never forgave them for their anti-Muggleborn propaganda during the war. She still won't have the paper in her house."

"She's dead right about Malfoy," Ron said grimly. "I always thought that sentence was ridiculously light. It's bad enough that son-of-a-bitch is still walking the earth, but to think that in another week he'll be free as air. . ."

"He gave a lot of gold to a great many worthwhile causes," Hermione sighed. "And he had a lot of powerful friends. It shouldn't make a difference, but it does."

Ginny looked at Teddy, who had stopped eating and was staring at his hands. "Come on, Teddy," she said. "Let's go for a little walk, you and I."

She led the little boy into the sitting room and sat beside him on the sofa. "It upsets you when your gran is sad, doesn't it?" Ginny said.

Teddy nodded, still staring at his hands. "You want to help her, but you don't how," said Ginny. "And it upsets you because you don't know what to do."

Teddy looked up. "How'd you know?"

"Because the people I love feel very sad sometimes," said Ginny. "And I've felt the same way you do. Lots of times."

Teddy's hair had gone from bright holiday hues to mousy brown. Ginny remembered the shade Tonks's hair had been when she couldn't morph. "I feel like I ought to be sad, too," Teddy said. "About my mum and dad, I mean. And I am sometimes, but. . . I don't feel sad the way Gran does."

"Your gran doesn't want you to be sad," Ginny said. "And your mum and dad certainly wouldn't want that. They'd want you to be happy, and you make your gran happy just by being you."

Teddy seemed to be struggling with something. "I feel mad. When I think about my mum and dad, I feel mad. I know they were heroes and everything, but why'd they have to go away? If they really loved me, why didn't they just stay with me?" He looked down. "I know it's wrong to feel like that. . ."

"It's not wrong to feel the way you feel, Teddy. Feelings can't be right or wrong. They just are."

"You don't think I'm bad for feeling that way?" asked Teddy. "Even though they're. . . well, you know?"

"No, Teddy," Ginny said. "I don't think you're bad. I think you're just the opposite of bad. You're a very good boy, and I'm proud of you, just as your mum and dad would be. And Teddy, they'd understand about you being mad. In fact, I think they do understand. Because in a way, they never left you. In a way, they're with you all the time."

Teddy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they're still here," said Ginny. "Their spirits, or whatever you want to call them. They're here, Teddy. They're all around you. The kind of love that a parent feels for a child is so strong it can never really die. So when you fall asleep at night, they're beside you. When you wake up in the morning, they follow you through the day. And if you talk to them they can hear you."

"They can?" Teddy said. "But. . .they can't talk back, can they?"

"Of course they can. You might think it's your own thoughts, but it's really them, talking to you inside your head. But where they speak to you most clearly of all is right here."

"In my chest?" said Teddy, looking down, a bit cross-eyed, at the place Ginny was pointing.'

"In your heart," Ginny said, putting her arm around him. "Right here in your heart. That's where they live inside you. They're still with you, Teddy. They still love you. And I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that they're very, very proud of you."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ A lot of people have questioned my previous author's notes in which I repeated the assertion that seven is the most powerfully magical number. There are a number of references to seven in this story, and yes, the dreams do have something to do with it. Some of you have already guessed some of them and I've either hinted at or admitted to others, but as a little mental exercise (for those who enjoy that type of thing) see how many sevens you can pick out. I'll give you one to get you started and the rest at the end of the story, if you haven't found them all already. Clue number one: Ginny is a seventh child. _

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: _This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. Although I try very conscientiously to respond to each one, the sheer volume of reviews for this story (bless you – I love them!) increases the odds that I might slip up. If I don't respond, it's unintentional, so please let me know about it._

**Mimosa: **Your comment about thoughts before sleeping were very astute. One of the things I'm trying to create in this story is a sense of doubt about whether or not these dreams are truly visitations from Beyond or mere illusion (Ginny doubts, so we should too!). I'm not willing to say yet whether or not it's really happening, but Dumbledore's remarks in the last chapter should give you a clue. The Dumbledore dream sequence was the first one I wrote and I've been polishing it ever since, waiting for the right moment to insert it into the story. There is no detail that is unintentional, though parts of it will probably seem much more significant in retrospect. And yes, I know I'm being deliberately vague, but old Dumby tends to have that effect on people. I do love him, though. He was always one of my favorite characters, and it just about broke my heart when he died.

**ChickenChild:** Dumbledore is indeed a difficult character to write, as he's maddeningly cryptic and depends a lot on metaphor to get his point across, but nothing he says is insignificant, so it's usually best to read him carefully. A lot of people want Lily & James to appear in a dream. I can't make any promises, but there will be more dreams and each visitor will be appropriate to whatever Ginny is experiencing at the time.


	13. Chapter 13: Rumors

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ Thanks so much for the many kind thoughts that came my way while I was recovering from an especially nasty bout of bronchitis. I managed to knock another chapter out over the past few days, though it was a bit like pulling dragon's teeth as it's never easy to come back to a story after being away from it for a few days. But I am on the mend and hopefully will be able to keep it going on a regular basis now. I appreciate your good wishes so very much. You people are fantastic and the main reason I keep writing. _

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_Rumors_

Luna Lovegood wandered into London in January as though she had turned up there entirely by accident. She'd just returned from Albania where she had apparently succeeded in identifying and categorizing the Oozlum, a bird that flew backwards, which, Ginny reflected, was not unlike Luna herself. Ginny was very glad to see her old friend, for she was facing another Harry-less stretch while he worked on whatever he was working on in the Balkans, and thought that Luna's unique brand of improbability was exactly what she needed.

Hermione arranged to take a break from her legal studies to meet them for lunch at a restaurant Luna had recommended. It was always a bit of a risk going along with any of Luna's suggestions, but in this particular restaurant, located amid a collection of jazz clubs and a rather eclectic artist's colony, none of her eccentricities seemed at all out of place. Indeed, when Ginny arrived and found Luna already seated, sporting her customary radish-earrings and waving her arms above her head to ward off Wrackspurts, none of the Muggle patrons batted so much as an eyelash.

Luna stopped beating off Wrackspurts long enough to hug Ginny. "You look nice," she said, eyeing the Muggle maternity ensemble Ginny was wearing. "Put on a bit of weight, though, haven't you?"

"There's a reason for that," Ginny said irritably. Pregnant or not, no woman ever wanted to hear something like that. "I wrote you about it. I'm expecting another baby."

"Oh, yes," Luna said. "And Hermione is too, isn't that right? Seems to be all the rage these days. Maybe I should try it."

"Er, Luna," said Ginny, "don't you think you ought to get married first?"

"I may get round to that eventually," Luna agreed. "But I don't know about 'first.' I mean, it's not really necessary, is it? Muggles certainly don't seem all that fussed about it these days."

"How would you know that?"

"One hears things, you know," Luna replied serenely. "And I meet the most interesting people during my travels."

"I'll bet you do," said Ginny, unable to prevent a smile as she thought of the kind of people Luna would likely attract. She regarded her old friend fondly. The years had changed Luna very little. Her dirty blonde hair still hung below her waist, and she still wore a look that made her appear continually surprised by life, though Luna herself was one of the most surprising things in it.

"Speaking of interesting people," Luna said as Ginny hung up her coat and settled into a chair, "I ran across someone rather curious while traveling through Montenegro. Do you remember that time we went to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Stubby Boardman?"

"That wasn't Stubby Boardman, Luna," said Ginny. "It was Sirius Black."

"Of course," Luna replied, waving away the correction as a matter of little consequence. "But the man I saw was at the Ministry that night. I think his name was Rookwood."

"Augustus Rookwood?" said Ginny, remembering the Death Eater who had served a term of imprisonment for passing Ministry secrets to Lord Voldemort. Like Lucius Malfoy, he too had recently been released from Azkaban. "What was he doing in Montenegro?"

"No idea," Luna said. "I didn't actually speak to him, I only saw him while passing through a market in Podgorica. I'm quite sure it was him, though I don't think he recognized me."

Ginny frowned, trying to picture the geography of the area. Montenegro was near Croatia. Dolohov and Petroff had been spotted in Croatia. Was it mere coincidence that an ex-Death Eater was in the same region as two Voldemort supporters? Ginny didn't think so, especially in light of the fact that Harry was in that region, too.

"So, Luna," said Ginny, in an effort to distract herself from the sudden surge of fear that her friend's information had induced. "Will you be in London long? I'd love for you to come and stay at Grimmauld Place. Harry's abroad just now and I'd adore the company."

"Wish I could," Luna replied regretfully. "But I promised Daddy I'd spend a few days with him before I leave for my next assignment. I'm off to Poland, you know."

Luna went on to describe a recent massive migration of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks from their native Scandinavia to the European mainland. The fact that she had yet to actually see a Crumple-Horned Snorkack had apparently not discouraged her, nor her father who continued to publish rumors of sightings in _The Quibbler_, which maintained a small but loyal readership who, according to Luna, still depended on him to publish "the really important stories." Ginny, whose mind was still on Harry, only half listened and had completely forgotten about Hermione by the time she finally blew in, looking flushed, disheveled, and very out of breath. Her hair, Ginny noted, was even bushier than usual.

"Sorry I'm late," Hermione panted. "How are you, Ginny? Lovely to see you, Luna."

Hermione hugged Luna, who regarded her with a dreamy expression. "Hello, Hermione. Did you know that your buttons are in the wrong holes? Or did you do that deliberately?"

Hermione looked down. "Oh, er, thanks," she said, and redid the buttons on her maternity dress, blushing furiously.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, taking in Hermione's tousled, pink-cheeked appearance. And she was _late_! Hermione was _never_ late. There was something suspicious going on here.

"So what kept you?" asked Ginny.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione replied. "Just a bit of, you know, shopping."

"Shopping?" Ginny persisted, noting the absence of bags or boxes. "What sort of shopping?"

"Odds and ends," Hermione replied, looking around for the waiter. "Have you ordered yet? I'm really hung. . ."

"Aha!" said Ginny, spotting something sticking out of Hermione's coat pocket which she'd just draped over the back of her chair. Before Hermione could stop her, she reached out and grabbed the object.

Hermione blanched. "For heaven's _sake_!" she exclaimed, snatching a pair of lacy black knickers out of Ginny's hands and stuffing it back into her pocket.

Ginny grinned devilishly. "Would you care to explain?"

Hermione, still blushing, glared at her. "I would not."

"Let me guess then," said Ginny. "You stopped by the joke shop on your way here."

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "And how _is_ my dear brother?" Ginny prompted.

Without removing her hands, Hermione sighed. "I may as well tell you. George will have informed the entire family by sundown anyway."

"George?" said Ginny. "What does George have to do with anything?"

"He. . . That is, Ron and I," Hermione mumbled. "We, er, set off a few fireworks. In the storeroom."

Luna's protuberant eyes went wider than ever. "Do you mean that literally or figuratively?"

Ginny giggled. "I think she means both. The storeroom, Hermione? Really?"

"Well, Ron's office is being redecorated," Hermione said peevishly.

Ginny and Luna both laughed so uproariously that the other patrons, lackadaisical though most appeared to be, turned to stare at them. Ginny heard a thud, which she took to be the sound of Hermione's head hitting the table. She couldn't really tell, as she was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Hermione whispered in a mortified tone. "I can't seem to _think_ about anything else lately. It was just sort of a whim and . . . Well, I left in a bit of a hurry." She indicated the undergarment in her coat pocket and covered her face again. "I don't think George will ever let either of us live this down."

"Probably not," Ginny agreed, wiping her eyes. "I'm not sure I can either."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I'd go easy if I were you. I haven't forgotten the time you and Harry nearly got caught in one of the lifts at the Ministry."

"At least _that_ was after hours," Ginny retorted. "But, all right, fair point. I'll go easy, but I can't vouch for George."

"Oh, God," Hermione moaned. "What was I _thinking_?"

"Don't feel too badly," said Ginny, taking pity on her. "What you're feeling right now is perfectly normal. Don't you remember what Katie and the others said that day at the Burrow? It's all down to those second trimester hormonal surges."

"I know that," said Hermione. "But it's like the whole mood swing issue, isn't it? I've always believed that we women needn't be slaves to our hormones. With enough determination we can control them, and I _have_ controlled mine, at least so far. I haven't been moody or emotional at all. Just ask Ron."

Ginny's eyes twinkled at Luna to let her know that Hermione was delusional on this point. Ron had been a nervous wreck lately, especially in the face of his wife's denial. But Ginny's mood had definitely brightened, especially when she considered the fact that she'd soon be able to act on her own hormonal surges. Her pregnancy had progressed with such blissful normality of late that the healers had given her permission to resume normal marital relations. She had written to Harry with the news, which she had briefly imagined, given the frustration he displayed prior to his departure, might bring him home on the first available portkey. So far he hadn't been able to break away from his assignment, but had written back that he was really, really, _really_ looking forward to returning to London where there would, without a doubt, be a hot time in the old town that night.

Ginny's fantasies were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter, who didn't turn a hair when Hermione asked for a rather unusual menu substitution."This pasta dish looks good," she said. "But could you leave off the cheese and drizzle a little chocolate sauce over it instead?"

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed. "It's got tomatoes and onions. . ."

"That's right," Hermione said, as though her request had been quite reasonable. "Just pour the chocolate right over the top."

"Right," said the bored looking waiter. "That's pasta primavera with chocolate 'stead 'o cheese. And what'll you have, Miss?"

When the waiter had gone to turn in their orders, Ginny shuddered. "And Harry thinks I'm weird for craving sardine and pickle sandwiches."

"That _is_ weird," Hermione agreed. "Sardines and _pickles_, Ginny?"

"Oh, and onions with chocolate sauce is the height of normalcy?" Ginny shot back.

"Reminds me of the Oozlums," Luna interjected. "They crave odd things when they're nesting, too."

"We're not _nesting_," Hermione said, but her curiosity got the better of her. "What sort of things do they crave?"

"Human flesh, mostly," Luna replied in a preoccupied fashion.

Their drinks arrived and they sipped in silence for a minute. "Hermione," Ginny said as Luna's earlier comments returned to her, "I don't suppose you know anything about this situation in Croatia? Harry hasn't told me much about what he's doing there, but I thought, with your Ministry contacts. . ."

"Croatia?" Luna said. "You didn't tell me Harry was in in the Balkans, Ginny."

"Didn't I?" said Ginny. "Why? Does it matter?"

Luna shrugged. "I heard a few rumors while I was there. You know the Muggles in that region fought each other for a long time."

"Of course, the Yugoslav Wars," Hermione said. "But that ended ages ago."

"Yes, but things are still very unsettled," Luna explained. "Not so much in Croatia, but one of the rumors I heard is that certain Dark Wizards have been trying to keep things stirred up in Bosnia and a few other places. They're trying to destabilize the Muggle governments so they can't rebuild their economy or political systems. The idea, I believe, is that it would be easier for wizards to take over amid the chaos. There's an important election coming up later this year in Bosnia and Herzegovina, so that may have something to do with it."

Hermione looked impressed. "I had no idea you knew so much about Muggle politics, Luna."

"One hears things," Luna replied modestly. "Travel is very broadening, you know."

"Luna saw Augustus Rookwood in Montenegro," Ginny informed Hermione.

"Montenegro," said Hermione. "That's on the border of. . ."

"Croatia," Ginny finished for her. "Specifically Dubrovnik, which is where two Voldemort supporters were spotted a couple of months ago. That's why Harry went there in the first place."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Montenegro is fairly well known as a hot-bed of smuggling activity. There have been rumors that Dark Wizards were involved, but I had no idea there were Death Eaters in the middle of it."

"Voldemort's reach extended well beyond Britain," Ginny said grimly. "I've learned a lot more about the scope of his activities since I started researching this book."

"Book?" Luna said. "What book?"

"Ginny is writing a history of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione explained.

"Are you, Ginny?" said Luna, looking genuinely interested. "That sounds fascinating."

"Yes," Ginny said faintly. "Fascinating."

The waiter returned with their food. Ginny tried to distract herself from her worry and the sight of Hermione's bizarre pasta concoction by listening to Luna describe the odd mating habits of Oozlums, but her mind kept coming back to whatever Harry was doing. No matter which way she tried to twist or turn it, the situation was frightening and the more frightened she became the angrier she felt. Hadn't they already been through enough of that, and wasn't it downright selfish of him to place himself at risk _now_, of all times? And why couldn't he have told her any of this himself? Was he still fool enough to believe she needed his protection or was it simply that, after all these years, he still did not trust her?

Ginny played absently with her food as her mind traveled back to that horrid time when he had been off hunting Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione. Her initial reaction upon learning that the three of them had Disapparated in the middle of Bill and Fleur's wedding had not been fear, but an aching despair and hurt that nearly floored her with its intensity. But anger followed pain, and it festered inside her like an abscess that swelled until the pressure became unendurable. Of course she was angry at Voldemort, and at the Death Eaters who continued to wreck such havoc on so many lives, but the brunt of her anger was directed at Harry. Unreasonable though it was, she was furious at him and some of that rage had never really gone away.

Ginny understood there were things that Harry, and only Harry, had to do. She'd understood as well that she, underage at the time and still subject to the Trace, would only have hampered their efforts. But understanding and acceptance are very different things, and Ginny had not been able to help feeling angry about being left behind for what felt like the millionth time in her life. As the youngest of seven, she had watched as, one by one, her brothers went away to Hogwarts and eventually left home for good. When Harry went away it had felt as if she was being left behind again, and not only left behind this time, but _left out_! Harry had always trusted Ron and Hermione with his secrets, but she knew nothing of the mission that took him from her after those few blissful weeks of togetherness, the culmination of years of waiting for him to notice her, to look around and see that all the love and happiness he'd ever wanted was there for the asking. But he'd gone away just as the dream became reality, and she'd been left behind once more, living on rumors of what the three of them were doing, never knowing from one day to the next if she'd ever see any of them alive again.

She'd taken her anger out in fighting. In starting up the D.A. again with Neville and Luna, Ginny found an outlet for her frustration, but there were still times in the loneliness of evening shadows that her anger was such that if Harry had suddenly appeared, she thought she would have hexed him without thinking. Did he know what she suffered, did he have any idea what she endured in his name, and did he even care? These were the questions that ran through her mind, and the idea that he was keeping her safe by putting her aside turned out to be a bit of a joke. The Death Eaters turned up at Hogwarts mere days into the fall term, and Ginny was dragged into an empty classroom by none other than Antonin Dolohov.

_"I understand you're Potter's whore," Ginny remembered him snarling, leering into her face with a look that made her blood run cold._

_Terrified though she was, Ginny nevertheless eyed him with contempt. "You've been misinformed."_

"_Don't lie to me, girl," Dolohov hissed. "Everyone knows the two of you were quite the hot little item this past spring."_

"_Who told you that? Draco Malfoy?" Ginny shrugged, trying to hide how badly her hands were shaking. "His information is out of date. Harry and I broke up. I have no idea where he is."_

_Dolohov's cold, dead eyes appraised her. "I could torture it out of you. Or maybe you'd rather watch while I use the Cruciatus Curse on your friends."_

It went on that way for awhile, but Snape had saved her, swooping in like an overgrown bat to demand his prerogative as Headmaster. Knowing the high place Snape held in the Dark Lord's esteem, Dolohov released her, and Ginny had trembled while she waited for the former Potions Master's pleasure to be made known. But after staring at her for several inscrutable minutes, Snape merely ordered her to return to Gryffindor Tower, which left Ginny puzzled until she learned, much later, what Harry had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve.

Ginny frowned as she recalled this incident. It had been years since she'd thought of it, but it was no mystery why it came to her now. It was all happening again, just as she'd always known it would. Harry was keeping her in the dark and putting himself in danger, and she would have some searing questions for him when and if he finally. . .

"Ginny?" said Luna who had noticed her silence. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes," Ginny replied. "Just woolgathering. What was it you were saying about Oozlums, Luna?"

"We weren't talking about Oozlums," Hermione said. "Luna was just telling me about her forthcoming, er, Crumple-Horned Snorkack expedition." Her mouth twitched with the effort not to lecture Luna about the futility of her mission. It was clear she was under a lot of strain. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Ginny? You're not. . ."

"I feel fine," Ginny insisted. "I just. . . Well, my mind was wandering a bit."

Hermione scrutinized her. "He'll be all right, Ginny. Harry knows how to take care of himself. If anyone knows how good he is, I certainly . . ."

"Yes," Ginny interrupted. "You _would_ know that, wouldn't you, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked at the unexpected bitterness in Ginny's tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that I wish my husband trusted me as much as he trusts you," Ginny said. "He's shared so many things with you and Ron that I'll never. . . that I can't. . ."

To her horror, Ginny felt tears spring to her eyes. Worst of all, Hermione looked anguished and hurt. "I'm sorry," Ginny said hastily. "I didn't mean that. It's just. . . It must be hormones. I guess I'm not as good as controlling them as you are."

Luna was patting her hand. "Have you told Harry any of this? Maybe if you talked about it. . ."

"How am I supposed to do that when the stupid prat is never home?" said Ginny, wiping her eyes with her serviette.

"He'll be back soon," Luna assured her. "You should talk to him, Ginny. Harry loves you so much. I'm sure he'll understand if you tell him how you feel."

"If it's any comfort, Ginny," Hermione said gently, "Harry doesn't share things with Ron and me the way he used to. I think there are a lot of things he can't talk about now, especially with his job as an Auror."

"Can't?" Ginny said. "Or won't?"

Hermione gave her a direct look. "If he's given his word, he'll never break it. Not for Ron and me, nor for anyone else either. If I know anything about Harry, it's that honor is what drives him. It's the most important thing in his life."

"Most important," Ginny repeated. "_The_ most important thing?"

"Yes, Ginny," Hermione said. "_The_ most important thing. But I think you already know that about him. There's an old Muggle poem that states, 'I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more.' Harry's honor is the reason he's able to love you the way he does. And it's one of the reasons, I believe, that you love him."

Hermione was right, of course. She was always right. Damn her. Ginny apologized again, and the rest of the luncheon passed harmoniously until Luna announced that she had to be on her way. They made their goodbyes, then Luna and Hermione found a quiet alleyway from which to Apparate while Ginny, who still wasn't permitted to use magical transport, hailed a Muggle taxi. When the cabdriver let her off at Grimmauld Square, she sat for a minute on a low wall facing the house Muggles could not see, or witches and wizards either who had not been specifically invited. Harry had kept all the protective enchantments around the property, initially to discourage journalists and curiosity seekers, and later because it made him feel safe to know that his family was in such a secure environment. But sometimes it felt a little too secure for Ginny. Sometimes, in fact, it felt a little bit confining.

She climbed the front steps, but before she could reach for the handle, the door was opened and Harry stood there, grinning at her.

"Where did you come from?" Ginny demanded, after he'd pulled her inside and given her a kiss that made her toes curl.

"Originally, Godric's Hollow," Harry replied, still holding onto her in a tight clinch from which there was no escape. "I caught an early portkey. Or rather five early portkeys. Five changes. Five! Merlin, what a mess. Where have you _been_? I've been waiting for hours."

"Luna was in town," Ginny said. "I had lunch with her and Hermione. Are you back to stay?"

"Only for a little while, I'm afraid. I have to go back, but when I saw an opportunity to take a few days off, I jumped at it. After your letter. . . Well, I couldn't get home fast enough." His eyes gleamed with unmistakable intent.

"Wait a minute," said Ginny, as he backed her toward the stairs. "What about James?"

"Still at the Burrow. Your mum agreed to keep him overnight. She'll bring him back in the morning."

Ginny opened her mouth to ask another question, but Harry silenced her with another kiss, his hands already undoing the careful plait she had bound her hair into that morning.

"So is this just a shag and run?" she asked, unable to work up much in the way of outrage when he started nibbling on her neck.

"Actually, I'm hoping to get in a number of shags," Harry murmured, his fingers slowly unbuttoning the tiny buttons on the back of her maternity top. "I don't know about running. . ." He broke off at the feel of a firm jolt from Ginny's midsection.

Ginny's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I think Albus is attempting to defend my honor."

"Sorry, Albus," said Harry, placing a gentle hand on her belly. "Why don't you go back to sleep? Mummy and I have things to do. Believe me, someday you'll understand." Without further ado, he swept Ginny off her feet, staggering a little at the extra weight. "You know, you're a lot heavier than you were the last time I did this."

Ginny arched a brow at him. "_Not_ the way to get into a girl's knickers, Potter."

"Okay then," said Harry. "You're light as a feather. So can we. . ."

He smelled of wind and sunshine, and his eyes gazed at her with such longing. She could feel his desire and hers fed upon it, for that was the way it had always been between them. Whatever they had to talk about could surely wait. Before anything else could transpire, before the world could keep turning, in fact, this was a sacrament that must be observed.

"Five portkeys?" Ginny asked, tightening her arms about his neck.

"Five," Harry replied. "_Five_, Ginny!"

"Lead on, McDuff," said Ginny, and without another word, or even the need for more words, he carried her up the stairs to their bedroom.

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_**A/N:**__ The line from the "Old Muggle poem" Hermione refers to in this chapter comes from "To Lucasta" by Richard Lovelace, a 17__th__ century English Cavalier and metaphysical poet. By the way, Oozlums are creatures from folklore that are alleged to fly backwards. I didn't make them up, nor did Luna, bless her._

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**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Mimosa: **Sorry for turning you into a tap. Plumbers are expensive where I live too. If I had any sense, I'd study plumbing instead of writing, but I have no sense, ergo I write. As for writing when I'm sick, I'm a very bad patient and am constitutionally incapable of lying in bed for very long. I might slow down a bit when I'm ill, but if I ever stop altogether somebody had better call a coroner. So glad you liked the last chapter. By the time I finished it, I was in such a state that I wasn't all that certain of the alphabet, but the reaction was positive and very heartwarming. Not too sure about this one either as it was hammered out over a much longer period than usual, so it was hard to keep the flow of the story going, but I'll let you be the judge. Thanks, as always, for your very kind words.

**Amy:** Andromeda's losses at the end of DH were heavier than anyone's, with the possible exception of Harry himself. After losing her husband, daughter, and son-in-law to Voldemort's minions, to have Narcissa, a Voldemort supporter and scion of a family who disowned her for marrying Ted Tonks, come out of that situation with her family intact, would be fairly upsetting. Of course it was Bellatrix who killed Nymphadora, and Bella and Cissy were on good terms when that happened. So while I think Andromeda ended up 'okay' (primarily because of Teddy, I'm sure), she has cause for bitterness. I doubt anyone could ever completely get over something like that. I know I couldn't.

**xKristinax:** You're on the right track with your "seven" guesses, but the ones I'm looking for are specific to this story. In other words, every time you see the word seven mentioned, take note.

**Dana:** Pregnant women do tend to have enormous appetites. That old axiom about eating for two really does have some basis in fact, so I don't think it's a permanent thing with Hermione. However, I have a feeling her hormones will get worse before they get better, especially as she's in complete denial about it (poor Ron!) so stay tuned for that.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT:** Thanks for the extra long review. Yes, Ron is always looking for a "get out" clause, even when it comes to buying gifts for his godson. And he's totally right about Lucius Malfoy (as are you). Jo indicated in an interview that Harry testified on behalf of the Malfoys after the war because of what Narcissa did in the Forbidden Forest, but I'd like to think old Lucius got some jail time. He certainly deserved it.

**Leah:** Thanks for your comments. I'm not sure yet how long this story is going to be. I know where I want to take it (and yes, it is "full-length) but haven't completely worked out all the details. To answer your question, however, it'll be as long as it needs to be. It won't go as far as all the children going away to Hogwarts, though I have written another full-length fanfic called _The Letter_ that begins the summer before James starts Hogwarts (10 years after this story takes place) which you can access by clicking on my profile page.

**ChickenChild:** I don't know that I'll be writing about Albus, Scorpius, et al, anytime soon, as I still want to write my Teddy Lupin story, but I'll keep your suggestion in mind. Thanks for your comments.

**Padfootprongs7:** You're obviously a "fluff" lover since you liked the first part of the last chapter. There'll be plenty more of that, don't worry. Thanks for your review.

**Wondergirl19879:** I'm glad you didn't think my thoughts were scattered, as even on my best days, they generally are. I appreciate your remarks.

**Old Navy:** Your comment that this story is "odd, but very cute" is apt, as it describes me in a nutshell. Thanks!

**chinchillaqueen13:** Don't want you to explode (can't have that!) so I'll try to keep updates coming as quickly as possible. Thank you.


	14. Chapter 14: Fireworks

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ Parts of this are a little steamier than you may have come to expect, but I have this story posted on two other sites and both insisted on higher ratings, so I figured I may as well earn it. I think I've avoided an M rating on this one, but perhaps just barely. Anyway, if you're into fluff, you'll love this chapter because it's chock-full of it, but there's also a note of international espionage and a couple of flashbacks to keep things interesting. _

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**Chapter Thirteen**

_Fireworks_

They lay in a tangle of arms and legs on the rumpled sheets, breathing in unison as their heartbeats returned to normal. After a few more lazy kisses, Ginny rolled onto her back and stretched, starting with her toes and working all the way up to her fingertips. She opened first one eye, then the other, and smiled a slow, satisfied smile of contentment.

"Did I mention that I love you?" Harry asked, lifting a strand of her hair and pressing it to his face. He had always loved the smell of her hair. It soothed him in a way he had never been able to define, as if the scent alone gave him a feeling of peace.

"Several times," Ginny replied. "In fact, you even shouted it once."

Harry grinned and propped himself on one elbow, brushing aside the sheet she'd automatically draped over herself. Ginny was always a little self-conscious about letting him see her body when she was pregnant. She felt lumpy and unattractive, but his eyes glowed as he looked at her and his free hand roamed in sensual appreciation over the familiar planes and angles until it came to rest on the place where the skin stretched, milk-white and smooth, over her belly.

"How's Albus?" he asked.

"Kicking a lot," Ginny said. "Especially at night. Or maybe I just notice it more then."

"And the bleeding?" Harry asked. "I hope that what we just did hasn't. . ."

"Shh!" she said, putting a finger to his lips. "The healers said it would be all right."

Harry smiled. "And was it?"

"Are you looking for marks out of ten?"

His mouth twisted. "Depends how generous you are with your marking."

"I'm not at all generous. And it was off the charts."

"Well, that's good then." He brushed the tendrils of hair off her forehead with the tips of his fingers. "Feel like going out for dinner tonight?"

"I'd like that. Where shall we go?"

"I don't know. Maybe we can Floo Ron and Hermione and see if they'd like to go with us. There's something I need to talk to Ron about anyway."

Ginny started giggling. "Speaking of Ron and Hermione. . ."

She told Harry the firework story. He was in stitches by the time she had finished. "Well, now we _really _have to ask them to dinner," he said. "I can't _wait _to take the mickey out of Ron over this one!"

"Er, Harry," said Ginny, suddenly remembering. "I'm not sure you want to do that. Hermione might not take it kindly if we get too big a _lift_ out of this story, if you know what I mean."

Harry's grin faded. "She wouldn't."

Ginny nodded sadly. "I think she would."

"Damn," said Harry. "Well, that's just not fair!"

"Don't worry, they'll never be able to stop George. I'm sure the rest of the family already knows about it by. . ." She broke off at an odd expression on Harry's face. "What? Does Ron have something on George?"

"Maybe," Harry said.

"What is it?" Ginny gave him an eager look of anticipation. "Tell me!"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I agreed not to. And stop that!" Ginny had started tickling him, but he captured her hands and held them over her head. "You can't torture it out of me. I won't talk. You can't make me!"

"Oh, come on," Ginny wheedled. "You can tell me. I won't say anything."

"I know you won't say anything, because I'm not going to tell you."

"I have other inducements besides torture, you know." She gave him a look she knew he would understand and ran her tongue over her lips very slowly. Harry winced. She had hit him in a vulnerable spot and she knew it.

"Oh, all right," he sighed. "It was a long time ago, back when George was still drinking a lot after. . . Well, it was before he started going out with Katie, and he was still living in that flat above the shop. Ron and I stopped by one night because he'd forgotten something earlier that day, and we caught George in a, er, compromising situation."

"You mean with a woman?" asked Ginny. "Well, if it was before Katie, why does that. . ."

"Because it wasn't just any woman," Harry said. "Do you remember Daphne Greengrass?"

Ginny frowned. "Wasn't she that Slytherin girl in your year? And didn't she. . . Hang on. Are you saying that my brother. . . Ew!"

"As Slytherins go, she wasn't that bad," Harry said. "But George didn't want anyone to know about it, especially after her sister ended up marrying Draco Malfoy."

"I think I heard about that. Astoria, wasn't it? She was a year or two behind me. Still, the idea of one of my brothers with a Slytherin girl. . ." Ginny shuddered. "Frankly, I'm surprised he survived it. I would have thought they killed after mating."

Harry chuckled. "Me, too."

"How did it happen? Did she put him under the Imperius Curse or something?"

"The way I understand it," said Harry, "they met in a pub, which of course is where George spent most of his time in those days. I don't think it lasted long. In fact, I'm not sure it was more than one night, but George made Ron and me promise not to say anything. For something like this, though. . . Yeah, I think Ron might have a little leverage with old George."

"Wow," said Ginny, falling back onto the pillow in mock dramatic fashion. "I come from a family of sex fiends and extortionists!"

"Whatever works." Harry pulled Ginny's head onto his shoulder and dropped a kiss onto her brow. "I still worry about you. And I hate being away from you, especially now."

"I hate it, too." She snuggled closer, fitting herself against his body. "Do you really have to go back?"

"Afraid so," Harry said. "But hopefully it won't be much longer. I'm trying to get this whole mess resolved before the baby comes."

"Before the baby comes?" Ginny repeated, sitting up to stare at him. "That's not until April! Are you telling me you won't be home until then?"

"It'll depend upon what happens. I hope it's sooner, but even if it isn't, I'm sure I'll be able to get away for short periods. Ginny, don't look at me like that," he said, for her stare had turned icy. "You know I don't _want_ to go."

Ginny knew better than to ask, but in light of what Luna had told her, she couldn't help it. "How dangerous is this? How much risk is there for you?"

She felt his muscles tense. "I don't take unnecessary risks. You know that."

"That's not really an answer to my question, is it?" Her brow creased into a frown. "Luna saw Augustus Rookwood in Montenegro."

His eyes shifted, but she could tell that what she'd said did not surprise him. "Did she speak to him?"

"She says she didn't. She didn't think he recognized her either, but she's sure it was him. She spotted him at a market in Podgorica."

Harry didn't say anything. He appeared to be thinking. "What's going on?" Ginny asked. "Are the Death Eaters trying to reorganize? Are they trying to start it all up again?"

He let out a long breath. "Lucius Malfoy's release seems to have energized them. He was Voldemort's chief lieutenant next to. . . well, Snape. But it's a pipe dream. Malfoy's a wreck. He's no more capable of leadership right now than Grawp."

"Then why do you have to go back?"

"Because they're causing a lot of problems for local authorities. The Croatian Ministry asked us to step in because we have experience in these matters. Things are actually fairly stable there, but they're concerned about unrest in the region. We've been using Dubrovnik as a base of operations because it borders some of the more troubled areas."

"What sort of problems are they causing?" Ginny demanded.

"Oh, the usual stuff. Muggle-baiting, keeping the populace stirred up. That sort of thing."

"Are they planning a return to Britain?"

He hesitated again. "Look, Ginny, we'll nip it in the bud. Kingsley Shacklebolt is Minister now, not Cornelius Fudge, nor Rufus Scrimgeour. We'll stop it before they have a chance to get anything started, so I don't want you to worry about it."

"I'm not worried about _it_," Ginny said. "I'm worried about _you_. And don't patronize me, please."

Harry sighed again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound patronizing. I just don't want you to worry. It's like I said, we have things under control."

"I don't believe you," Ginny said flatly. "If it was under control, you wouldn't have to keep going back. And Hermione tells me she ran into Dawlish at the Ministry the other day. Why wasn't he given this assignment? He's senior to you. He has more experience. It seems to me that he'd be the one in charge of something like. . ."

She broke off at the look on Harry's face. "You volunteered for this assignment, didn't you?" she said.

"Yes," Harry said. "I volunteered."

"Why?" Her voice was almost a whisper. "Why, Harry?"

"These are the same people who killed Fred, Ginny. They killed Remus and Tonks. They killed Sirius and Dumbledore."

"_They_ didn't kill them," said Ginny. "The ones who killed all those people are either dead or in Azkaban."

"Not all of them," Harry said grimly. "Some are out. Some walked free, and some worked hand-in-hand with the murderers. I can't let it go, Ginny. It's my fault all those people died and I won't. . ."

"It's _not_ your fault!" Ginny exclaimed. "Damn it, Harry, how many times . . ."

"I won't let it happen again!" Harry shouted. "Not while I have the strength to stop it! I'm never letting it happen again!"

Ginny stared at him. "Sometimes I really hate the fact that you're Harry Potter."

"I didn't realize I had a choice," said Harry.

"You know what I'm talking about."

Harry reached for his glasses and put them on. "Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you. . ."

"Why does it always have to be you?" Ginny asked bitterly. "Why do _you_ always have to be the one?"

"Where are you going?" he asked, for she had flung the covers off and put on a dressing gown.

"To take a shower," she replied.

Ginny was fumbling with the shower knobs when Harry came into the bathroom. He'd donned a pair of jeans, but was barefoot and shirtless, and he reached over her shoulder to turn off the water before turning her around to face him. "Ginny, I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . . I'm sorry, okay?"

She flattened her hands against his chest, but didn't look up. She could see the scars he had accumulated during those dreadful months they were apart. The oval shape from the locket Horcrux had not faded with the years, nor had the mark over his heart where the Killing Curse had hit him. At least there were no new ones. That was something to be grateful for.

"Don't," she said. "I can't stay angry when you look at me that way. I need to stay angry."

"Why?"

"Because if I don't I'm going to cry. And I know how you hate it when I cry." Unfortunately, it was already too late. Damn those hormones!

"Ginny," said Harry. "Ginny, please. . ."

"I saw you dead," Ginny mumbled against his chest.

"What?" said Harry, tilting her face up to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"At the edge of the Forbidden Forest," she said. "I saw you dead. I never want to see that again."

She heard him sigh as he pulled her against him, and knew what he was thinking. How many times would he have to apologize for that, and how many ways could he explain just why it had been necessary? But it didn't matter what he thought or said because the impressions would not leave her.

"Let me take my shower," Ginny said. "Why don't you rest or have Kreacher fix you something to eat? I'm sure you're tired and hungry after your trip, and after. . . well, you know."

Harry smiled. "I am a little tired. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm all right," she said. "Go on now. I'll be fine."

When he'd gone, Ginny shed her robe and stepped into the shower as thoughts tumbled through her head like an avalanche rolling down a mountain, gathering speed and deadly force. She couldn't stop them, any more than she could block the memories that followed. Over the sound of rushing water came a high, cold voice echoing through the Chamber after someone she'd once believed to be her friend climbed out of her diary.

"_Don't fight it, Ginny. It'll be so much easier if you don't fight it."_

"_Let me go, Tom. Oh, please let me go!"_

"_I can't let you go, you silly girl. And after all, it was you who brought me here."_

"_I want my mum and dad! I want to go home!"_

"_Shut up, you sniveling little brat! Shut up and die so I can live."_

Ginny closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the slippery tiles as warm water cascaded over her body and pictures flooded her mind, like one of those old Muggle films with grainy, flickering images, only these pictures were accompanied by vivid sensations. Her family in the Great Hall, weeping over the lifeless body of her brother, and a pain so deep it could not possibly get worse. But the worst was yet to come, for Ginny would never forget the boneless feeling that dropped her to her knees the instant she heard that voice again.

"_Harry Potter is dead!"_

Someone screamed, _"It's not true!"_ and it must have been Hermione because Hermione was standing right next to her, and the voice that shouted, _"No!"_ came from Ron. Then the high, cold voice continued.

"_The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished."_

Ginny remembered losing control of her limbs, sinking to the floor with a cry of agony, but someone wrenched her to her feet and dragged her out of the castle alongside them. Hagrid was there at the edge of the Forest, sobbing over something cradled in his massive arms, but it couldn't be Harry, it _couldn't_ be! And now Ginny was beyond pain. There was nothing left but aching emptiness. She herself had surely died, or a Dementor had sucked out her soul, because the thing that screamed his name was nothing more than a hollow shell.

Then Neville ran forward and the Sorting Hat burst into flames, a sword flashed and the snake's head spiraled into blackness. Chaos erupted all around them, and she could hear Hagrid shouting, _"Harry! Where's Harry?"_ over the melee as the force of the crowd propelled her back into the castle. Then she was fighting, they were all fighting, she, Luna, and Hermione battling Bellatrix Lestrange, and the woman's maniacal laughter rang out as the jet of green light passed within an inch of her. And Ginny thought, _"I don't care, I don't care, let her kill me!"_ But her mother rushed forward, shouting, _"Not my daughter, you bitch!"_ In her shock, grief, and confusion, there was a stirring of sensation, of fear for her mother, and a voice in her head shrieked, _"Not Mum! Not Mum, too!"_ But Molly's wand slashed through the air and a moment later Bellatrix Lestrange lay dead at her feet.

The next thing she remembered was a bellow of rage, and another voice, an unbelievable, blessedly familiar voice shouted, _"Protego!"_ and he was there, miraculously alive, and they were circling one another, Harry and Voldemort, wands raised in a fight to the death. And all Ginny could do was stare, drinking in the sight and sound of someone she had believed lost forever. Nothing mattered to her but that he was there, he was alive, but she heard something about a wand, about Dumbledore and Snape, and Harry saying, _"Try for some remorse, Riddle,"_ before the twin cries of _"Avada_ _Kedavra!"_ and _"Expelliarmus!"_ And Voldemort was falling, falling backward, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands. It was over. Just like that, it was over. Harry had won, and Voldemort was dead.

Ginny only caught glimpses of him after that. Everyone wanted to touch him, weep over him, thank him for what he had done, while Ginny sat with her mother, reminded once more of their loss and bowed down by it. Then Luna said something and everyone looked up to see what she was pointing at. Ron and Hermione stood up suddenly and left the Great Hall, and Ginny realized that Harry was with them under the invisibility cloak. But Hermione and Ron came back alone. They were holding hands, something that at any other time would have been cause for hilarity, for everyone had been waiting for them to realize what was patently obvious to anyone with eyes. But nobody felt like laughing then. Fred's body lay stiff and cold in an anteroom, and George looked so lost and alone, and her parents couldn't seem to stop crying, and Harry . . . Well, Harry had disappeared again, so what else was new? He'd disappeared without even seeking her out, and the relief Ginny felt at discovering he was alive was drowned by an overwhelming desire to slap him, slap him hard, and keep slapping him until he understood just how much he had hurt her.

But when she stormed up to Gryffindor Tower after Hermione told her that he'd gone to get some rest, she found him huddled in a weeping, shuddering, shivering mass in the center of his four-poster in the boy's dormitory. His clothes were torn and ragged, his face and hands covered with cuts and abrasions, and the look he gave her when he raised his head was so anguished, so devastated and forlorn that all she could think was that he was there, he was alive, and she loved him more than life itself. So she climbed onto the bed and held him until neither had any tears left to shed, and stayed there until he fell asleep with his head in her lap and the unspoken promise that he would never be alone again.

The next day he told her everything as they walked around the lake, hand in hand. Harry talked until his voice nearly gave out on him, and when he reached the part where he described his last thought before the Killing Curse struck him, there were tears streaming down Ginny's face. And she knew then that she had forgiven him, that she could, in fact, forgive him anything, especially after what he said next.

"_I love you, Ginny. All last year I promised myself that if I lived long enough to tell you that I loved you, it would be one of the first things I'd do as soon as I had the chance. So I'll understand if you're angry with me for breaking up with you. I'll understand if you're so angry that you never want to speak to me again. But I had to tell you, and I have to thank you, Ginny, because I really think you're the reason I survived."_

She had been in the shower so long that the water had gone cold. Ginny turned off the tap and reached for a towel, drying her body before using her wand to perform a quick-drying spell on her hair. Picking up the dressing gown she'd dropped on the floor, she padded back into the bedroom where Harry lay on his side, his arms wrapped around the pillow where her head had lain earlier. His eyes flew open when she climbed into bed beside him, and his arms went around her instead, gathering her to him as a wave reaches out for the shore.

"Feeling better?" he asked in a sleepy voice.

"A bit," she replied.

He held her in silence for a moment, stroking her hair. "Do you want me to stay?"

Ginny lifted her head to look at him. "Of course I want you to stay! What sort of question is that?"

"What I mean is that if you tell me not to go, I won't. Nothing matters more to me than you, Ginny. So if you really need me here, just say the word and I'll stay."

Ginny bit her lip. Part of her longed to say, "Yes, I need you. Don't go! Don't leave me again!" He was hers, after all, and she had a right to claim him. He'd given her that right when he placed a ring on her finger. Even before that, on the day after the Battle, he had been hers from that point forward. But he was more than just 'her' Harry. He was Harry Potter, and he would never be just hers alone. Ginny knew that if she asked him to stay and the world descended once more into madness, he would never be able to reconcile his finicky conscience, nor could he make peace with that damnable sense of honor. So she could not ask it, but oh, how it hurt to let him go!

"We should be making some decisions about dinner," Ginny said, trying not to let him see the shine of tears in her eyes. "If we're going out with Ron and Hermione. . ."

"I Flooed them while you were in the shower," Harry said. "They'll meet us at _Il Mago_ around eight."

Ginny glanced at the bedside clock. "That's two hours from now."

"It is," Harry agreed. "Which gives us plenty of time for sweets."

Ginny smiled. "Sweets usually come after dinner."

"Call it a starter then."

He leaned in for a kiss, and Ginny wondered how it was possible to love someone so much. There were times when she could not tell where she left off and he began. But they were still so separate, and both so very much alone.

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_**A/N:**__ 'Il Mago,' by the way, literally translates to 'The Magician' in Italian, but it can also mean 'The Wizard' which is the way it's intended here. All reviewers receive their very own personalized cyber-firework display (WWW logo optional)._**

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****Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Mimosa: **Thanks for the decision, Judge. And I'd like to thank the Academy for. . . No, wait. Wrong occasion. As for the restaurant in that chapter, it's based on an actual restaurant in my hometown which one of my English friends tells me is like some of the places she's been to in Soho. It attracts a rather eclectic crowd, including a fair number of witches (Wiccan type) and nothing would surprise its regular patrons very greatly. It's a fun place. I considered your recommendation about a family dinner to discuss Ron & Hermione's "firework" incident, but as you've seen, I decided to give Ron the upper hand instead. The chess master triumphs! That may not be the end of it, but you should have plenty of angst to keep you going for awhile. Thanks so much for your lovely review.

**Katie:** Thank so much for your very kind words. And I will definitely keep writing because it's kind of a compulsion by now.

**Dana:** Yes, onions and chocolate are a bit disgusting, but pregnant women crave some odd things. For me it was Oreo cookies, which isn't all that strange, but I ate them practically by the crate. The odd part is that my son has never liked chocolate. Must have suffered from a surfeit in-utero or something.

**ChickenChild:** More Ginny memories for you in this one, and yes, poor Ginny indeed. I always felt sorry for her in the books, not least because she was always shunted off to the sidelines. I'm glad you thought I did Luna justice. She's a tough character to write, and I'm pleased you enjoyed her. Thanks for your comments.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT:** And here's another one who likes Hermione's strange tastes in pasta. Don't think that's something I'd want to try, but hey, whatever floats her boat, right? Thanks for your review.


	15. Chapter 15: All is Well

_**A/N:** There is apparently some debate as to whether or not Draco Malfoy's wife's first name is Astoria or Asteria. Wikipedia lists her as Astoria and the HP Lexicon has both spellings with question marks behind each. There is a page of handwritten notes on Jo's website in which it appears to be Asteria, but an argument has been made that Ms. Rowling's handwriting leaves something to be desired and the 'e' could very well be an unclosed 'o.' However, the world will likely not stop turning on this point, so until Jo tells us otherwise, I'm sticking with Astoria. Also, before anyone comments, Jo's website claims that Harry was not made Head of the Auror office until 2007. Therefore, at the time this story takes place (2006), he would still have been an ordinary field Auror, though of course "ordinary" is a bit of a misnomer with the likes of Harry Potter._

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**Chapter Fourteen**

_All is Well_

Ginny had never really trusted automobiles. She was like her mother in that regard, inasmuch as she was always a little suspicious of any form of transport that didn't run on magic. And since the mysteries of the internal combustion engine were as alien to Ginny as cauldrons and broomsticks were to Muggles, she had never bothered learning how to drive.

Harry was different. Having been raised in the Muggle world, he could see the advantages of car ownership, and after passing his driving test at eighteen, he'd treated himself to a smart looking Rover that spent most of its time in a converted tool shed in the alleyway behind Grimmauld Place. Hermione actually drove it more than Harry did, for she found it convenient for visits to her parents. The Grangers apparently found it disconcerting to have their daughter and son-in-law Apparate into their home and, being Muggles, they were not connected to the Floo network. Ron was like Ginny when it came to non-magical transport, and couldn't seem to get the hang of Muggle traffic anyway, which he described as frankly "mental." But Hermione knew how to drive, and the Rover saw much more use from her than it did from Harry.

It came in handy, however, when Ginny was barred from Apparating or Flooing anywhere during her pregnancy, as Hermione offered to chauffeur her around while Harry was away. They'd even arranged to have their regular pre-natal visits at the same time so that Hermione could drive to their appointments, and on a morning in February they set off together toward St. Mungo's.

"We really should buy our own car one of these days," Hermione said as she and Ginny climbed into the Rover. "I feel so guilty borrowing the Rover all the time, but until recently we really couldn't afford it. Maybe after we've taken care of a few of these new house and baby expenses we can get one. We're having everyone over for dinner next Sunday, by the way. It'll be the first family dinner in our new home. Any chance Harry will be back by then?"

"I'm not sure," said Ginny, as Hermione pulled out of the alleyway into the Muggle street beyond. "I haven't heard from him in nearly a week, which is a bit worrying, actually."

"Maybe he's trying to wrap everything up quickly so he can get home," Hermione suggested. "Didn't you tell me his last letter indicated he was on the verge of some sort of breakthrough with this case?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "It's still not like him, though. He normally writes at least once a day, no matter how busy he is. Even if it's just a line or two. . . Merlin's beard, Hermione!"

Hermione had just whipped around a line of taxis, only to encounter a lorry heading in the opposite direction, but skirted it just in time. "I know what I'm doing," Hermione insisted while Ginny clung to the dashboard. "I'm a very careful driver." Which struck Ginny as conspicuously untrue as Hermione's claim that her hormones were under control. Nevertheless, Ginny decided to hold her tongue. She was, after all, a passenger.

"Anyway, I'm sure Harry's all right," Hermione continued. "The Ministry would have notified you if. . . well, if anything had gone wrong."

"If they knew about it themselves," mumbled Ginny.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"I don't have a lot of confidence in Harry's boss," Ginny said, referring to the current Head of the Auror office, a wizard called Archibald Hines whom Harry had once complained "couldn't find his arse with both hands."

Hermione sighed in agreement. "That's the problem with civil service. You get your fair share of hangers on. Kingsley's been trying to nudge old Archie toward retirement for years, but so far he's still clinging to his post. He hasn't done anything horrible enough to be sacked yet, but I know Harry's been frustrated with him."

That was putting it mildly, Ginny thought. The only thing that prevented her from being absolutely furious with Harry was that she knew his inexplicable decision to volunteer for this assignment had a lot to do with Hines's incompetence. As one of the few senior Aurors left alive after the war without ties to Dark Wizards, Hines had achieved his position virtually by default, but his years as an Auror had left him nervous almost to the point of timidity, and his reluctance to confront the most difficult situations had been a thorn in Harry's side from the beginning. This wasn't the first time Harry had volunteered to personally deal with problems that Hines kept waffling over, and of course being Harry Potter gave him a distinct advantage. Still, the timing of this particular assignment was personally inconvenient, and Ginny couldn't quite decide whom she was more annoyed with, Harry or his mouse of a boss.

To be fair to Harry, however, this had started out as a short-term assignment in which he anticipated being away for a few weeks at most. It wasn't his fault the situation had escalated, and Ginny had never known him to leave anything half finished. But what about his obligation to her and their children? If, as he claimed, she was the most important thing in his life, then why should she have to ask him to stay, especially at such a crucial time? It had even occurred to Ginny that Harry was doing the exact same thing he had once accused Remus Lupin of doing, abandoning his wife and child for some higher, nobler purpose. But he wasn't really abandoning them, was he? He had every intention of coming home and was working assiduously to make that happen as quickly as possible. Ginny knew that Harry suffered from terrible conflict. It was apparent in all his letters, the guilt he felt about being away from her, James, and soon-to-be little Albus, and his assurance that there was no place he'd rather be than at her side was undoubtedly sincere. All the same, his obligation to the greater good of the wizarding world, thrust upon him though it may have been, was also something that he took quite seriously. It was one of the things Ginny had always loved about him, but it was also the thing that had always stood between them, and she wondered if there would ever come a time when the greater good could possibly be served without him.

"I'm sure you're right about Harry," Ginny said. "As a matter of fact, there'll probably be an owl waiting for me when I get home. So how have you been feeling?"

"Quite well, actually," Hermione reported. "I'm a little breathless when I go up and downstairs, and I've had a bit of indigestion lately, but nothing severe. How about you?"

"Oh, the usual," said Ginny, deciding not to mention the persistent ache in her abdomen and lower back. She'd thought at first it was the result of a pulled muscle, but it had not gotten better. She planned to mention it to the healer today, but didn't feel like saying anything to Hermione as the last thing she wanted was the entire family hovering again.

They finally reached the cark park near St. Mungo's, only to find it already full. With a quick glance around to make sure no Muggles were watching, Hermione pulled out her wand and created a parking space where none had been a moment before. The two women walked the few blocks to the abandoned red brick department store where the sign "Closed for Refurbishment" still hung. Hermione leaned toward the dummy in the front window and said, "Obstetrics, please." The dummy crooked a finger, and Hermione and Ginny stepped through the window into the reception area.

They made their way to the correct floor and took seats on a pair of rickety wooden chairs in a waiting room filled with witches in various stages of pregnancy. If all of them were to lie on their backs, Ginny reflected with an inward giggle, they would have resembled a colorful mountain range. Several of the witches were accompanied by wizard husbands or partners, one of whom glanced nervously at the healers bustling about in their lime green robes and started up in alarm at the sound of a loud bang, followed by copious amounts of purple steam issuing from one of the examination rooms. Probably a Muggleborn, Ginny decided, for such occurrences were commonplace at St. Mungo's and didn't cause so much as a twitch among the others.

One witch who was not accompanied by a husband or boyfriend was a pale, slight woman with long black hair and penetrating blue eyes who looked up from the outdated issue of _Witch Weekly_ she'd been reading when Ginny and Hermione came in. She glanced at them several more times while they sat there, though looked away whenever Ginny returned her gaze. She looked vaguely familiar, but Ginny couldn't place her. She turned to Hermione who was already well into a weighty legal tome she'd brought along, and said in an undertone, "Hermione, who is that woman?"

"What woman?" asked Hermione.

"That woman over there. No, don't look! She's looking back at us."

"How am I supposed to know who she is if I don't look at her?" Hermione asked reasonably. Her eyes shifted to where Ginny indicated, but after studying the other woman, she frowned and shook her head. "I have no idea. I don't think I've ever seen her before."

"I have," said Ginny. "I'm almost sure of it. I just wish I knew where."

The answer came within minutes when a healer's assistant came to the door to announce, "Mrs. Malfoy, if you please."

Hermione stared unabashedly as the woman followed the assistant to an examination room. "That. . .that. . ." she sputtered when the woman had disappeared. "It has to be. . ."

"Astoria Malfoy," Ginny confirmed. "Draco Malfoy's wife. I _knew_ I'd seen her before! She's Daphne Greengrass's sister. You knew Daphne, didn't you? She was in your year at Hogwarts."

Hermione looked at the closed door as if hoping to see through it. "I wouldn't say I knew her," she said in a low voice. "She was a Slytherin, after all. We didn't exactly mix, but I. . . Well, I heard that Malfoy had married her sister, but I didn't know she was expecting."

"She looks to be about six or seven months along," Ginny said. "Here's a thought, Hermione. Our children will be in the same year at Hogwarts."

The two women looked at each other, and Ginny knew Hermione was thinking the same thing. The rivalry between the Potters, Weasleys and Malfoys were the stuff of legend by now, and it was disconcerting to think of it continuing into another generation. As she thought this, Ginny felt the fetus inside her give a noticeable lurch. In the next instant, Hermione clutched at her own belly and said, "Oh, my!"

"Kick?" Ginny guessed.

"A strong one," said Hermione. "I wonder. . ."

But her words were cut off by the healer's assistant calling out, "Mrs. Granger-Weasley, please."

Hermione and Ginny shared the same obstetrical healer, but Hermione's appointment was first. Ginny knew she was facing a long wait, as Hermione always had a thousand questions during her regular prenatal visits. She settled back with a magazine, but her eyes only passed over the words without reading them. She thought about the woman she'd seen earlier, or more particularly, about the family into which she had married.

The Malfoys had maintained a very low profile since the war. Draco and Narcissa only stayed out of Azkaban because Harry had testified on their behalf, telling the Wizengamot of Draco's unwillingness to kill Dumbledore on top of the Astronomy Tower, and Narcissa's lie in the Forbidden Forest that had saved his life. But Lucius had been convicted, and while he served his sentence, his wife and son lived almost in seclusion at Malfoy Manor. The news of Draco's marriage had caused a brief stir a few years ago, but it died down quickly and no one ever seemed to see any of them at wizarding events any more. Since Lucius Malfoy's release from Azkaban, however, he and Narcissa had applied for and received permission to leave the country. They planned to set up house in France, according to the latest reports, but Ginny couldn't help thinking of Harry's comment that the few surviving Death Eaters had been energized by Malfoy's release. What did it all mean? She didn't know, but it made her uneasy. In fact, it was downright. . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on her shoulder. Turning quickly, she found herself staring into the piercing blue eyes of the very woman who had inspired her musings.

"I beg your pardon," said the woman, who had apparently come out of the examining room while Ginny was lost in thought. "But you _are_ Mrs. Potter, are you not? Mrs. Harry Potter?"

Ginny struggled out of her chair and stood facing the other woman, surprised and a little apprehensive to be approached this way. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"I'm Astoria Malfoy." She glanced around the crowded waiting room and lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. "I wonder if I could have a word. In private?"

She nodded toward the hall. Rather reluctantly, Ginny followed her. Once there, Astoria looked around. Seeing no one in either direction, she leaned closer, and her voice remained at a low timbre. "It's not an accident that we're here at the same time. I have a contact in the appointments office. When she told me your appointment was today, I changed my own to coincide as nearly as possible."

Ginny blinked in confusion. "I don't understand. Why are you. . ."

"I have something for you," Astoria said, pressing a tightly folded square of parchment into Ginny's hand. "No, don't look at it now. Wait until you're alone. Keep it close to you, but tell no one."

Ginny looked at the thing in her hand and stared blankly at the other woman. "My husband owes his life and freedom to yours, Mrs. Potter," Astoria explained. "We are not without gratitude."

"Did your husband ask you to give me this?" asked Ginny, thinking that sending his wife to deliver a message for him sounded like the sort of thing Draco Malfoy would do. Of course he would be reluctant to approach Ginny himself, having already experienced her Bat Bogey Hex prior to their excursion into the Department of Mysteries years ago.

"Not exactly," Astoria said. "Although it is for his sake that I am here."

Ginny continued to look perplexed, and Astoria Malfoy continued. "There's another reason I offered to do this, Mrs. Potter. My sister Daphne knew your brother."

Did she _ever_, Ginny thought, but all she said was, "Oh?"

"Don't you have a brother called George?"

"Um, yes," said Ginny, wishing she didn't blush so easily. "Yes, I do."

"He was kind to Daphne," Astoria said, "at a time when few wizards or witches showed kindness to anyone with ties to the Dark Lord. Even indirect ties, such as our family's were. It's never easy for those who end up on the losing side. But your brother treated Daphne decently, even though he had every reason to hate. He lost his twin, I understand."

"Yes," Ginny said, unable to prevent a note of bitterness in her reply. "Our brother Fred. He was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"We lost people we cared about in that battle as well," said Astoria. "One of them was a boy whom Daphne loved very much. He was in her year at Hogwarts."

"I. . . I'm sorry," Ginny said reluctantly, thinking of the Slytherins who had returned to fight for Voldemort, and whose bodies had been kept apart from those of the other fighters in the Great Hall. "How is, er, Daphne?"

To Ginny's surprise, a spasm of pain crossed Astoria's pallid features. "As I say, it was a difficult time for all of us, but it was harder on Daphne than most. She couldn't cope and. . . Well, ultimately we lost her too."

Ginny felt a wave of horror. "I hadn't. . . Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Thank you," Astoria replied, and Ginny could not help but admire the woman's quiet dignity. "I should go. It wouldn't do to have people see us talking. Remember what I said. Keep it close to you. And tell no one." And without another word Astoria Malfoy turned and walked away.

Ginny looked down at the folded square still clutched in her hand. She had just started to unfold it when she saw Hermione come out of the examination room, still firing questions at the healer, who looked a bit cross-eyed, Ginny thought.

"But how could I have gained an entire stone in just one month?" Hermione demanded, as Ginny stuffed the parchment into her pocket. "I've been watching my diet very carefully, Healer Giatros. As you know, I monitor everything . . ."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the healer, a plump, middle-aged witch with black hair and very dark eyes called Ilithyia Giatros. "It's really nothing to worry about. Just cut back on the sweets and starches a bit and you should be all right." She looked around and saw Ginny in the hallway. "Ah, Mrs. Potter! I won't have to ask the assistant to go and collect you after all. Why don't you come straight in."

She stood aside to let Ginny pass while Hermione scurried off to the waiting room, muttering something that sounded like, "Scales must be off," and jotting furious notes on the clipboard she always brought with her to appointments. Ginny thought she must have enough notes for a book by now, and was wondering what she did with them all when Healer Giatros picked up her chart.

"Let's see now, you're at twenty-eight weeks gestation. Still taking the _Valens Ingravesco _potion, of course. Any more bleeding episodes?"

"No," Ginny replied. "But I've had some soreness in my back and lower abdomen."

"H'm," said the healer. "Well, hop up onto the examination table and let's have a look."

Ginny climbed onto the padded table and lay still while the older woman waved a wand in slow co-centric circles over her body.

"Blood pressure's a bit high," Healer Giatros said thoughtfully. "But the _placenta previa_ seems to have cleared up. It happens in most cases. And the baby is growing at a normal rate, which is all very good. I'm a little concerned about these pains you've described, though. I think we may want to start you on a more frequent appointment schedule, and up the dosage of that potion. And of course you'll notify me at once if you notice anything out of the ordinary. About this blood pressure situation. Is your husband still out of the country?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Ginny replied.

"And you're missing him, I suppose," said the healer, taking in Ginny's expression. "Well, that could explain it. I think I'll also prescribe a calming draught. Only take it when necessary, as it loses effectiveness with too frequent use, but it can be helpful for anxiety in expectant mothers. No, no, it won't harm the baby. It's been thoroughly tested. The only notable side-effect is unusual dreams."

Ginny stared. "Unusual dreams?"

Healer Giatros, who still had her wand, took another reading. "My goodness, there goes that blood pressure again! I think I'll double that prescription. Be sure to stop by the chemist on your way out."

Hermione was scowling at her notes when Ginny returned to the waiting room, but she managed a smile and said, "Everything all right?"

"Seems to be," Ginny replied. "I need to stop by the chemist, though. I have a new potions prescription."

"No problem," said Hermione, gathering up her coat, handbag, clipboard, and book. They returned to the ground floor where the chemist shop was located. While they waited for Ginny's potions, Hermione excused herself to go the Ladies, and Ginny decided to take advantage of the opportunity to look at what Astoria Malfoy had given her. Unfolding it carefully, she was astounded to see Harry's handwriting on a small square of very old, yellowing parchment. It read:

_Whatever you hear all is well -Harry _

Ginny turned the note over to see if there was more writing on the back, but found nothing. Only those seven words, in Harry's distinctive hand. It had to be from him, but what did it mean? And why had it come through Astoria Malfoy, of all people? Why not the usual owl post or other normal channels? It was ominous, to say the least. Between the menacing "Whatever you hear" and the reassuring "all is well," Ginny had no idea what to think. She was so absorbed in staring at the words and trying to understand them that she did not realize Hermione had returned.

"What's that?" asked Hermione, indicating the note which Ginny hastily tried to hide.

"It's. . . nothing, it's just. . ."

"Come on, Ginny, what is it?" Hermione persisted.

Ginny hesitated. If she couldn't trust Hermione, whom could she trust? What's more, Harry had always trusted her. And Hermione was so clever. Maybe she could help decipher whatever it meant. Ginny handed over the note, watching as Hermione turned it over.

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "It's blank."

Ginny took the note back and was astonished to see those same seven words. She looked at them again and then at Hermione, and finally realized what was going on. Harry had bewitched the parchment so that only she could read it. Which had to mean that he didn't want anyone else to read it. Not even Hermione.

"It's a, er, spare bit of parchment," Ginny said, refolding it quickly and tucking it back into her pocket. "I, uh, just found it in my pocket. I'd forgotten I had it, so. . ."

Hermione didn't look convinced, but fortunately the chemist called out just then that Ginny's potions were ready. After collecting her prescriptions and gathering up their things, the subject appeared to have been conveniently forgotten.

Hermione chattered all the way back to Grimmauld Place. "I still have so much to do to get the nursery ready. We ordered a cot and changing unit at _Magical Baby Bounty _in Diagon Alley last week, but we still need to find a pram. Or maybe a pushchair would be more practical. And I still need to buy nappies, vests, sleepsuits, all sorts of things really. And bottles. I plan to breastfeed, but it'd probably be good to have bottles on hand for emergencies, don't you think? I haven't decided when I'll go back to work yet either. There's so much to think about, I just don't know where to start."

Ginny responded with appropriate noises, but her heart was hammering in her chest and her mind was miles away. What was going on? Where was Harry? Was the note truly from him and if so, what did he mean, "Whatever you hear?" What was she supposed to have heard? Why had he asked the Malfoys to deliver the message, if indeed the message really _was_ from him? And what could the "all is well" portend? How could all be well if he was sending her cryptic messages? What the hell was he playing at? And where could she possibly go to find answers?

"What do you think, Ginny?"

Ginny dragged herself back to the Rover with an effort. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?"

Hermione glanced at her. "You've been a little distracted ever since we left the hospital. Are you sure you're all right? You didn't get bad news, did you? Anything you're not telling me?"

Ginny considered for a moment. She wouldn't exactly say that she had received bad news. More like bewildering, really. "I spoke to Astoria Malfoy while you were in the examination room."

"_Did_ you?" said Hermione. "What's she like?"

"She seems quite pleasant. Surprisingly so. Did you know that her sister Daphne had died?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I did, actually. Dreadful business. Apparently she took her own life."

"Yes," Ginny said faintly. "I gathered as much."

They arrived at the house. Ginny invited Hermione in for a cup of tea before she Apparated home, an offer that was readily accepted. Ginny put the kettle on and told Hermione to make herself comfortable, then went upstairs to see how Winky was faring with James. He was taking a nap, but Ginny took a moment to tuck the blankets more securely around him and kissed the sweet face that looked even more innocent in repose. Then she returned to the kitchen, and was very surprised to find that Hermione was not alone. While still on the stairs Ginny's heard a man's voice. When she opened the door, she found Ron, standing near the hearth with his arms around Hermione, who was clearly very upset.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked. "Why is Hermione crying?"

Hermione lifted a tear-streaked face to give her a stricken look, and Ron crossed the floor in a few swift strides. "Dad, George, and Bill are on their way," he explained, clutching Ginny's hands so tightly that the wedding ring cut into her flesh. "Mum too, as soon as Percy notifies her. It might be best to wait until they. . ."

"Tell me now," Ginny said, feeling the blood drain from her face at the sight of her brother's expression. "What's going on?"

Ron was very pale beneath his freckles. "Ginny, keep in mind that we don't really know anything yet. It's just a preliminary report. . ."

"Ron, _tell_ me!" Ginny demanded. "What's happened?"

"It's Harry," Ron said, and he looked agonized. "He's gone missing."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Giatros, by the way, is a Greek word that means doctor, and __Ilithyia (also spelled Eileithyia) was the Greek goddess of __childbirth and labor. For American readers, a stone is 14 pounds, which is rather a lot to gain in a month, pregnant or not. And yes, I know, EVIL author to leave you with such a cliffhanger. What can I say? I thrive on suspense!_

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Mimosa: **We are indeed all alone, but I personally think it's important to learn _how_ to be alone in order to be right with someone else. Ginny is learning the hard way, bless her, but no relationship is perfect, either in real life or in fiction. Like the wives of all great men, she has her crosses to bear, but as another reader pointed out, that's the price she pays for loving him. I think the ratings thing has to do with the fact that a lot of younger people frequent these sites, but as you indicated, this is all within the context of married love which is sanctified in nearly every culture. But yes, Slytherin sex definitely should receive a higher rating, as it includes violence, at least according to Ginny (!!). Thanks for your lovely, detailed reviews. I always feel that I haven't quite finished a chapter until I've heard from certain reviewers, and you are definitely one of them.

**Jessica:** Daphne Greengrass was briefly mentioned in _Order of the Phoenix_ as a Slytherin in Harry's year. She was just after Hermione alphabetically, so she was called at the same time when they were taking O.W.L.'s. That's the only time she was mentioned, I believe, until Jo announced in a post-DH interview that Draco Malfoy had married Daphne's sister, Astoria. Being a relatively unknown canon character, she gives fanfic writers a lot of freedom. She's been portrayed as everything from a nun to a prostitute and, as you've just seen, I turned her into a suicide. Oh, well!

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT:** Well, now you have some idea of what's going on with Ginny and Albus (yikes!) and with Harry on his mission (double yikes!). I'll try to keep updating regularly, but this is a tough part of the story and I've been struggling with a lot of interruptions lately which hasn't helped much. Still, I'll do my best. Thanks for your reviews.

**Luna:** James was with Molly in the last chapter. At the end of the previous chapter, Harry told Ginny their son was "Still at the Burrow. Your mum agreed to keep him overnight. She'll bring him back in the morning." This one took place later that same afternoon.

**Sara:** Glad you liked the fluff. Unfortunately, with Harry MIA at the moment, it may be in short supply for awhile. Sorry about that!

**Yiota: **I addressed the Astoria/Asteria issue in my opening author's notes, but if you hear anything definitive that might clear up the confusion, please let me know. I like the fact that Asteria means stars. Thanks for your kind words, by the way. They're appreciated.

**nandini:** You reviewed _The Letter_, but since you indicated that you're also reading this story, I thought I could respond here. It's kind of weird that I wrote _The Letter _first because it takes place about ten years after this story. It's kind of backward, but after I wrote that one, I found myself wanting to fill in more of the backstory and that's where _Great Expectations_ came from. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I've never had so much fun writing anything in my life, and that's saying a lot, because I've done a lot of writing. Thanks so much!


	16. Chapter 16: Puzzles, Plans and Portents

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ This chapter gave me more trouble than all the others put together. It seemed to take forever to work out a solution to a problem that's been giving me fits for days and hopefully won't leave you too confused, though I fear my struggles may be reflected in the quality of the writing. If it seems that way to you, please accept my apologies in advance, but here it is (Whew!), such as it is, and stay tuned for another dream visitor who makes a brief appearance near the end of this chapter._

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**Chapter Fifteen**

_Puzzles, Plans, and Portents_

The red brick warehouse had suffered heavy bomb damage, and like so much else in the remote Bosnian village, no attempt had yet been made to rebuild it. But to the wizards who stood hunched over a map in one of the few undamaged portions, it was a handy meeting place and they had plenty of Muggle-repelling charms placed around what was left of the building to ensure privacy.

"I tell you, it _is _him," one of the wizards said excitedly. "I asked him to meet us here."

"Dragovic, you fool!" snarled Andrei Dolohov. "You asked him to meet us _here_? If you're mistaken. . ."

"I'm not mistaken," the wizard called Dragovic insisted. "Of course I made certain before inviting him to join us. It _is_ him, I swear it!"

"I heard he was in France," said Petroff. "I think we should proceed with caution, Andrei."

"That goes without saying," Dolohov said. "I think I hear him now. Both of you, keep quiet! Let me do the talking."

The three wizards stared as a tall, painfully thin man with a pale, pointed face appeared in the crumbling archway. His hair was more white than blonde, and he leaned heavily on a gnarled cane with a serpent's head. But he carried himself with a trace of the old arrogance as he hobbled slowly into the presence of the three men.

"Manners, gentlemen," Lucius Malfoy chided in a lazy drawl. "I believe it is customary to offer a chair to a guest."

The wizard called Dragovic hastily conjured a comfortable armchair into which Malfoy sank with a pained expression.

"Bloody rheumatism," he complained, taking a silver flask from the pocket of his cloak and taking a small sip before replacing it. "Seven years in Azkaban isn't exactly a recipe for good health. Of course the accommodations here do little to improve anything." He looked around with a contemptuous glare. "Not exactly five wand standard, is it? I don't suppose you could explain why you've elected to set up in this hell hole instead of some more civilized environment?"

"We were making progress in many of the larger cities," Dolohov explained, a little more defensively than he had intended. "Then Potter turned up with his team of Aurors and started making trouble. But that doesn't explain why you're here, Lucius. We heard you had taken a chateau in Marseille."

"And that is where I shall return once I have been apprised of your plans," said Malfoy. "I am told you are in need of funds and, I've no doubt, guidance. From what I understand, your efforts have been somewhat. . . scattered."

Dolohov looked truculent. "Not so scattered as you might think."

"Yes," Malfoy drawled. "I understand you've become quite adept at blowing up roads and bridges. . ."

"We've done more than that," Petroff said. "There's munitions and narcotics trafficking. . ."

"_Hold_ your tongue!" Dolohov hissed. "Didn't I tell you to let me do the talking?"

Malfoy's lips twisted into a thin smile. "If you want my assistance, you'll have to be a little more forthcoming. Come now, Dolohov. You don't expect me to buy a pig in a poke, do you?"

"Why should we tell you anything?" Dolohov demanded. "How do we know you really _are_ Lucius Malfoy?"

Malfoy arched a brow. "What proof would you have me offer?"

"If you _are_ Malfoy," Dolohov said cagily, "you'd have the Dark Mark, wouldn't you?"

Malfoy sighed and pushed up his sleeve, displaying the skull and serpent tattoo on his forearm. "Satisfied?"

"Not quite," said Dolohov. "I heard that Auror, Dawlish, was sent to France to keep an eye on you. How'd you get past him? And how'd you get hold of a wand? I shouldn't think the Ministry would let you have one, just coming out of Azkaban."

"Wands are easily obtained with the right amount of gold," Malfoy replied. "You should know that much, with all your contacts on the Black Market. As for Dawlish, it was a relatively simple matter to Confund him. He's demonstrated his susceptibility in the past. I believe it's one of the reasons he's never risen very high in the Ministry hierarchy. Now then, Dolohov, are you going to tell me what you have planned, or shall I take my gold and find worthier enterprises in which to invest?"

Still unconvinced, Dolohov went forward carefully. "As you know, the Dark Lord followed Grindelwald's lead in creating discord among Muggles during his years in power. Grindelwald, of course, focused primarily on central Europe and might have succeeded were it not for the interference of that Muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore." Dolohov hesitated again, watching Malfoy closely. "The Dark Lord's efforts, on the other hand, were concentrated in Asia. . ."

"That's incorrect," Malfoy interrupted. "The Dark Lord focused on eastern Europe during his initial reign. He believed there were sufficient weaknesses in that region to exploit to his own ends, and hoped that with a little encouragement the Muggles could be nudged toward self-annihilation. Unfortunately, he was brought down before his plans could be carried out, and after his return to power the world had changed sufficiently to require a change of direction. Therefore, he branched out to the south where there was considerable unrest at the time, and where he hoped ultimately to create a Mecca for wizardkind."

"And how do you know all this?" Dolohov asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "He spoke of it often during many private conversations with his most trusted advisors, of which I was proud to be one. You, I take it, learned it from your cousin."

Dolohov appeared to relax. He had indeed learned of Voldemort's attempts to create a Wizard paradise by overthrowing destabilized Muggle governments in the Balkans from his cousin Antonin. The details, however, were a closely held secret which only someone in the Dark Lord's innermost circle could have known.

"We've continued some of what he began here, given our limited resources," Dolohov said. "At present there are several important trials underway for so-called war crimes, and the elections coming up in October are creating a lot of dissent between various Muggle religious factions. We're encouraging all that, of course, along with our smuggling activities along the coast. It's a stinking business, dealing with Muggle criminals, but it's the only means we have of raising funds. Unless of course we can count on your backing."

"Commendable though your efforts may be, gentleman," Malfoy said, "I always like to know in whom I am investing. I believe I heard a rumor that my old friend Rookwood is in charge of your operations in Montenegro, but what about your activities in Serbia and Bosnia-Herzegovina? I'd like to meet with those in charge before I commit to anything."

Dolohov shared a look with his confederates. Petroff still looked uneasy, but Dragovic nodded encouragement. "There's a meeting in Kosovo later this month. We intend to finalize our plans at that time, but . . ."

"But what?" said Malfoy when Dolohov faltered.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but your presence might attract more attention than we want," Petroff said. "If Harry Potter were to learn of your involvement. . ."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Potter, if I were you," said Malfoy.

"But he's here, Lucius," Dolohov protested. "And he's come very close to capturing . . ."

"I said, there is no need to worry about Potter or his team of Aurors," said Malfoy. "A snake without a head is a rather useless creature, and Potter, it appears, has vanished."

"Vanished?" said Dolohov. "As of when?"

"Just this morning," Malfoy said. "Right about the time I arrived, in fact. Apparently, you're not as up-to-date as you think you are, Dolohov."

Dolohov stared at him. "Are you saying. . ."

"I'm saying there is no need to worry about Potter." Taking the flask from his pocket, Malfoy took another drink. "None whatsoever."

* * *

The discussion dragged on for hours. Ginny was at its center, but she was not part of it. It swirled around her, punctuated by rage and frustration, but she heard only snatches of it, random words caught on the fly as they spun past her. They all assumed she was in shock, which of course she was, but they could not hear the mantra that ran through her head: _Whatever you hear all is well-Harry_

"He's somewhere in the Balkans," she heard Ron say. "We know that much."

"That's like saying he's somewhere in the Congo," George responded. "We'd have no idea where to start looking, Ron, never mind coming up with a rescue plan."

"What are we supposed to do, leave it all up to the Ministry?" It was apparent the idea was intolerable to Ron. "He's my best mate! We can't just sit here while. . ."

Ginny tuned them all out. All she could think of was the note in her pocket:_ Whatever you hear all is well-Harry_

"The Minister has personally stepped in to take charge of the Auror Department," she heard her father say, the calm voice of reason breaking through her fog. "Hines is beside himself. When he came to my office this morning, he was wringing his hands. The poor man was practically babbling, he was so upset. I couldn't get anything sensible out of him, so I went to Kingsley who explained everything, and of course that was when I contacted all of you."

Everyone looked at Ginny again, but she ignored them. _Whatever you hear all is well-Harry_

"Kingsley will sort this out," Bill said confidently. "If anyone can get to the bottom of it, he will."

"What was Harry doing in the Balkans anyway?" Percy demanded. "From what I understand, he volunteered for this assignment. That can't be true, can it?"

Ginny felt rather than saw all their eyes shift in her direction, and heard Ron respond in a tight voice, "He'll have had his reasons."

Percy mumbled something that Ginny could not hear, but whatever it was it infuriated Ron. "How _dare_ you criticize Harry!" Ron shouted. "After everything he's been through, after all he's done.. ."

"He also has a duty to his family," Percy replied primly. "Maybe you can forget that, Ron, but I can't."

"_You're_ talking about duty to family?" Ron demanded incredulously. "That's rich, coming from you!"

"That's enough," Arthur said sternly, as Bill forced Ron back into his chair and George stepped in front of Percy, for the two looked ready to go at each other like rams in rut.

Molly came running in with James in her arms, looking wildly around as two of her sons glared at each other and the other two stood between them, looking alert and wary. She said nothing, however, as Arthur continued in the same no-nonsense tone. "That's ancient history, boys. We are not bringing it up again. Especially now."

"Dad's right," George said. "The last thing anyone needs right now is an old-fashioned Weasley family blow-out."

"You're brothers," said Bill. "Try and act like it!"

"Harry is as much my brother as any of you," Ron retorted. With a glare at Percy, he added, "More, in some cases."

"We all care about Harry," said Bill. "But we're supposed to be here for Ginny, aren't we? This isn't helping her."

Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, but Hermione went to stand behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Ginny saw her press down gently, and after a minute Ron said, "Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Percy said. "I didn't mean to cause offense."

"Yeah, well, that's your whole trouble, isn't it?" Ron muttered, which made no sense to anyone, but apparently it made him feel better to say it. A single quelling look from Hermione, however, was all it took to shut him up.

Silence fell. Apparently feeling the need to fill it, George said, "Betting against Harry has never been a good move. If a building were to fall on him, my bet is he'd climb out of the rubble clutching somebody's gold watch."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "We all need to trust his judgment. Merlin knows he's given us enough reasons to trust him before now."

"More than enough," Bill added. "He'll be all right. I'm sure of it."

Ginny knew they were saying these things for her benefit, but none of it really mattered. She appreciated their support, truly she did, but all her hopes and prayers rested in the mysterious piece of parchment in her pocket which no one knew about except her. It was her talisman against desperation, her charm, her compulsion. It was only thing that prevented her from screaming hysterically, but for James's sake, for everyone's sake, she could not allow that to happen. She could not permit herself to give way to despair.

People brought her food that she could not eat. Cups of tea went cold in front of her. Feeling the house close in around her, Ginny allowed her mind to roam free and she thought of a time just after the war when Harry had been staying at the Burrow. It was the summer they shut out the world for a little while, the only time in Ginny's memory they ever managed to do it. After all the funerals, Ron had gone to Australia with Hermione to help find her parents, and everyone else went back to their lives. Bill and Fleur returned to Shell Cottage, Charlie to Romania, Percy to a new job at the Ministry, and George drifted in and out the Burrow like a pale ghost of his former self. But for Harry and Ginny it was a time of renewal and in that summer of death, with sorrow all around them, life clamored.

George and his grief had occupied the family's attention, leaving Harry and Ginny pretty much on their own most of the time with no outside pressures, no Horcruxes to destroy, no Dark Wizards on the loose needing to be conquered. For the first time they had been free to focus on each other, and focus they did, spending long, lazy hours wrapped in each other's arms, and as the trust between them grew, so did the intimacy of their physical relationship. They'd come close the edge, very close in fact, but it was always Harry who held back, Harry who called a halt before things went too far, motivated by that sense of honor that maddened Ginny and inspired her admiration in equal measure. She was still underage, he kept pointing out, and however much they treated him like a son, he was still a guest in her parents' home. It amused and irritated her by turns that even in the throes of passion he would not forget his duty, either to her family or what he felt he owed to her, though Ginny continued to do her very best to inspire amnesia.

It was also that summer that Kingsley Shacklebolt offered Harry and Ron an opportunity to join the Auror Department, despite their lack of N.E.W.T.'s, to help round up the few remaining Death Eaters who had managed to escape capture. Ron would eventually leave the Ministry to work full-time with George at the joke shop, but for Harry it was the start of a dedicated career that inspired a decision to move into the house Sirius had left him which was more convenient to the Ministry than the Burrow. Ron planned to live there with him, but before either of them moved in, Harry took Ginny on a tour of Grimmauld Place to get her advice about renovations that would surely be needed before the house could become truly habitable.

The day they chose was Ginny's seventeenth birthday. Harry had taken her to the Ministry earlier that morning to take her Apparation test and they stopped by Grimmauld Place before going out to dinner to celebrate her coming of age. Both were a little saddened at the thought of their forthcoming separation, for Ginny and Hermione planned to return to Hogwarts in a few week's time to complete their seventh years. As Ginny walked through the house, offering suggestions about what might be done to make everything brighter and more homelike, she noticed that Harry had gone very quiet. When she turned to look at him, she saw something in his eyes that had never been there before, and was a little taken aback when he said, _"Do you think you might ever be able to live here?"_

_Ginny had to think about this for a minute. "Possibly. With a few. . . changes of course."_

"_What I'm asking is," Harry stammered, staring at the floor, "would you ever think about marrying me?"_

_She couldn't help smiling. "Was that a proposal?"_

_He looked at her. "What if it was?"_

_Ginny wasn't sure what made her hold back, but something did. "I don't think I'm ready yet. And to be perfectly honest, I don't think you are either." At his crestfallen look she quickly amended, "I'm not saying no. I'm just saying. . . Ask me again sometime, okay?"_

"_I will," he replied. "Believe me, I will."_

_They had reached the topmost landing and were standing outside Sirius's old bedroom. Perhaps it was her desire to convince him that she wasn't saying no forever that made her lead him into the room. Maybe it was his desire to imprint himself on her or perhaps convince himself that he really did have a claim that made him sweep her off her feet and carry her to the wide bed with its carved wooden headboard. But that was where it happened, surrounded by posters of motorcycles and bikini-clad Muggle girls. It felt so right after all their agonized discussions, and afterward Harry made her laugh by murmuring that, wherever he was, Sirius was probably grinning in approval._

Ginny became aware that someone was speaking to her. It was her mother, commenting on the fact that she looked tired, as if she hadn't already made the identical observation at least a dozen times that afternoon. Or was it still afternoon? It was dark outside, so night must have fallen already.

"You really should get some rest, Ginny," Molly insisted. "Don't worry about James. Your father and I are planning to stay here tonight, so we'll look after him for you."

"Perhaps a dose of that calming draught Healer Giatros prescribed this morning might be in order," Hermione suggested.

Ginny blinked at the realization that it really _was_ only that morning they had gone to St. Mungo's. Only this morning she had received the note from Astoria Malfoy. The note that was still in her pocket, practically burning a hole in it: _Whatever you hear all is well-Harry_

Both Hermione and Katie, who had come over after the joke shop closed, offered to go upstairs with Ginny, but she insisted upon going alone. Everyone watched as she went up the first flight of stairs, but instead of turning off at the second landing toward the enormous master bedroom, which they had created by knocking down a wall and combining two smaller rooms, she climbed all the way to the top where Sirius's old room was located.

She and Harry had come up here just before he left again for the Balkans. Regulus's room had been cleared of all the Slytherin paraphernalia, but except for a thorough cleaning by Kreacher at Ginny's behest, Sirius's room had not been changed at all. It was the only room in the house that had not undergone serious renovation, but kept by unspoken agreement as a kind of shrine, both to Sirius and to the golden memory of that very first time. All these years later, however, it seemed a terrible waste of space, and they'd discussed what to do about it when Harry was last home.

"_It might make a good room for James someday," Harry had suggested. "Albus could have Regulus's old room."_

"_I don't know," Ginny said, frowning. "I don't like the idea of my babies two floors above us."_

"_I'm not talking about now," said Harry. "I was thinking of when they're older, maybe around the time they start Hogwarts, or when they're teenagers especially. Teenaged boys like their privacy. I should know. I was one myself once, remember?"_

"_Vividly," Ginny said, and this time she was smiling. "Although with that in mind, it's what they'd want privacy for that I'd be worried about."_

_Harry laughed. "I doubt they could get up to too much with us in the house."_

"_Au contraire," Ginny countered. "We managed a few times at the Burrow over Christmas holidays, didn't we?"_

"_Oh, yeah," said Harry, as memory came flooding back. "In that case, those definitely have to go." He pointed at the girlie posters. "No sense putting any more ideas into their heads than will probably already be there."_

"_We could just tell them what we did here," Ginny said jokingly. "For most kids, the idea of their parents having sex is enough to put them off the whole concept. It's also a pretty good slimming diet."_

"_I guess I never thought about it," said Harry. "Of course I never really knew my parents, but I suppose they must have, otherwise how would I have gotten here?"_

"_Yes," Ginny agreed. "I know Mum and Dad must have too, but all the same. . ." She broke off, shuddering._

"_I think your parents are rather sweet, actually." When Ginny's eyebrows shot up, Harry__ hastened to explain. "Not that I've ever really thought of them, er, like that, but the way they still love each other after all these years. . . Well, it's the way I hope we'll be someday, when we've been together that long."_

Ginny waved her wand to light the lamps and sat on the bed, pulling from her pocket the folded note she had not looked at since that morning. Expecting to see the seven words that had brought her such comfort, she was stunned to find the parchment blank, or nearly so.

The words had disappeared. All that remained was a single numeral: 7

Ginny turned the note over, even holding it up to the light to see if anything might be visible, but there was nothing. Had she only imagined those words or was this part of the spell Harry had placed on the parchment? And what did the number seven represent? What could this possibly mean?

She smoothed the note out, forcing herself to think. Ginny knew very well what she had seen earlier that day. She hadn't imagined it. The words really _had_ been there, and there had to be some way to bring them back. Acting purely on impulse, she quickly found a quill and ink. Perhaps if she wrote something, Harry would be able to write back. Where that idea came from she couldn't begin to imagine, but it was born of desperation and somehow it just felt right. Ginny paused for a minute, wondering what to write, and finally beneath the number that seemed to mock her, she wrote the question that raged through her brain: _Where are you?_

Ginny gasped as the words faded from view. The ink appeared to seep into the parchment and disappear, but nothing came to take its place. Only the number seven remained. Ginny tried rephrasing the question: _Are you all right?_ But the same thing happened and after a few minutes of this, she flung both quill and parchment aside in frustration. Merlin, she was furious! If Harry wasn't already dead, she would kill him for sure! What the hell was he playing at, and what sort of sick game was this to offer assurance and then snatch it away?

Ginny paced the floor, trying to think and fighting down the rising tide of panic that threatened to engulf her. There was obviously something about the number seven that was highly significant. Come to think of it, she remembered Harry saying something about it the last time he was home. It was something Professor Dumbledore had once told him. What was it again? _"Seven is the most powerfully magical number." _

Yes, that was it. Well, but what did it mean? Seven was a powerful magical number. Fine, but what on earth did it have to do with the note? Seven, seven, seven. . . Ginny almost smacked herself in the forehead as it came to her. Of course! How stupid of her! There had been seven words.

She reached for the note and quill she had discarded earlier, and wrote seven words: _Where are you Are you well-Ginny_

The words faded almost instantly, but so did the number. It seemed to take forever, but it was really only minutes before new words appeared on the page. But they were not the same words she had seen before. Instead what the note now read was:

_Well but missing you Home soon-Harry_

Ginny released a breath she had not even realized she was holding in. It was his writing, she was sure of it. No one else made their y's exactly that way, with the funny loop at the bottom, or slanted their t's upward as if they were reaching for the sky. Why he had elected to communicate with her this way, Ginny could not begin to guess, but for now at least it was enough to know that he was safe and that he would, as the note assured her, be home soon.

Clutching the message to her bosom as though it was a tiny piece of him, Ginny lay back against the pillows on the bed. As her heartbeat slowed, she thought that she really ought to go to her own room, for if anyone came looking for her they would be alarmed to find her missing. But for some reason she felt closer to Harry here where they'd first joined as one flesh, even though the joining had occurred far more frequently two floors below. She thought of what her father had said earlier, that Harry had given all of them reason to trust him, and trust him she would until the time came, if it ever came, that there was nothing left to believe. Thinking this, feeling warm and comfortable, her eyes closed and her mind drifted slowly toward sleep.

. . . And almost immediately awakened to the sound of a dog barking. It was a very sharp, insistent bark, too. How was anyone supposed to sleep through all that racket? Ginny swung her legs off the side of the bed and walked to the window, trying to see out into the back garden. Nothing was there, but then she didn't really expect to see anything. It was probably a neighbor's pet. The Muggles who lived near Number Twelve could not see or hear them, but they could see and hear everything around them. One of the neighbors had an annoyingly overprotective German Shepherd, while another had a very yappy little Pekinese. Really, though, how inconsiderate! Honestly, it was appallingly bad manners.

It did not occur to Ginny that there was anything strange in the fact that she didn't encounter anyone on her way down the stairs, or that the back garden when she reached it was as silent as a grave. It didn't even surprise her when, instead of a dog sitting on a low wall beneath a tall, leafy tree that she could not recall ever having been there, what she saw was a man with long black hair that fell in elegant waves over his forehead.

This time Ginny did not question whether she was dreaming. Perhaps she was used to it by now, but the strikingly handsome man who gazed back at her had surely never known Azkaban and the rakish grin he flashed at her was not bitter or haunted, but had a confident assurance that made his gray eyes sparkle. And when Ginny spoke to him, it was with a sense of tranquility that felt like the result of long practice.

"Hello, Sirius," she said.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Some of you are probably jumping up and down, shrieking, "Omigod, Sirius!" He's been in the works for a long time, and you'll see more of him in the next chapter. In the meantime, here's a special shout out to __**Creative Touch**__, who correctly guessed (a little spookily, I might add – I'm beginning to wonder if she's practicing Legilimency) that Harry would go missing. Thanks loads to everyone for your wonderful reviews. I really appreciate them!_

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Mimosa: **I'll take a look at that trilogy as soon as I get the chance, which may not be for awhile as things are a bit hectic between writing this story and everything else that's going on. Why won't life stand still for fiction, as it very well should, in my opinion (you're right, I'm gone!). Sorry about the blood pressure. I didn't mean for there to be such a long delay in posting an update, but I hit a wall half-way through this chapter and had to climb over it, inch by inch, scraping my fingernails along the bricks, until I worked out a solution. It's a rough business, writing. Your questions may not be answered for awhile (after this chapter, you may have new ones) but rest assured they will all be answered eventually. I hope. Ah, well! As always, thanks so much for your delightful reviews.

**Amy:** Yes, and Ginny says Harry never tells her anything! Lol, indeed! (Good one!) You were quite right, it is about time for another dream. Unfortunately, you'll have to wait for the next chapter to get the gist of it. And yes, you're right, Ms. Rowling's arithmetic is a little frightening, isn't it? Thanks for your reviews.

**Niffler:** Not too fast, not too slow, not too little, not too much. Just right, as Goldilocks said to the Three Bears. Thanks very much!

**Padfootprongs7: **Sorry to freak you out with the cliff. Yes, your question makes sense, but I can't really answer it because it'll give too much away. You'll just have to keep reading to find out.

**Sunlitdaz14: **OH MY GOD, thank you! And no, the seven words are not a coincidence. All the sevens in this story are intentional. I think. Well, hopefully anyway.

**CBGB:** Actually, the Killing Curse _did_ leave a mark the first time it hit Harry. The lightning-bolt scar, remember? Jo's never actually stated as much, but the way I figure it, the Killing Curse doesn't leave a mark when it kills, but when it hits someone and fails to kill them (which pretty much narrows it down to Harry) it does. I figure the second one would have left a mark too. He survived it, after all.

**ChickenChild:** Don't want you to go insane (though you'd probably be in excellent company). I'll try to get the next update posted soon.

**Kim:** Thanks! I appreciate your comments.

**infinity:** Thanks a lot. Keep reading, please!

**chinchillaqueen13:** Yes, Harry is missing. But you couldn't expect the world of Harry Potter to be smooth sailing forever, could you?


	17. Chapter 17: Broken Places

**Great Expectations**

_**A/N:**__ Not exactly a fluff chapter, but lots of "love talk" in this one. Just in time for Valentine's Day too!_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Broken Places_

"Hullo, Ginny," said Sirius, taking one of the hands he had jammed into his pockets to pat the space next to him. "Pull up a bit of wall, why don't you?"

Ginny sat a few feet away. "Sorry about the barking," Sirius said. "Hope you don't mind, but I thought it might be best if we met out here. There's not much in that house I ever want to see again. Not a lot of happy memories, I'm afraid."

"No, I would think not," Ginny acknowledged, considering some of the things she had seen before the house was renovated. "Was it difficult growing up here?"

"It wasn't so bad after I started Hogwarts. I was only home summers then, and I managed to spend a good part of my holidays at the Potters'. They always treated me like a son. More than my own parents did anyway. But before that. . ." He gave a derisive snort of laughter. "My parents hired a bad-tempered old wizard called Austerus Blunt to tutor my brother and me. Same raving lunatic who taught our cousins, as a matter of fact. Did Andromeda ever tell you about him?"

Ginny shook her head. Andromeda rarely talked about her childhood, and Ginny was positive she had never mentioned a tutor. "Was he strict?"

"Brutal was more like it. Quite handy with the cane was Professor Blunt. Well, that was the reason they hired him, wasn't it? Determined as they were to turn us into proper little pureblood aristocrats, they thought beating the impudence out of us was the best way to go about it. Of course with me it had just the opposite effect. Though to be entirely fair, some of that was probably due to James's influence." He paused for a minute, seeming to listen for something, then glared up at the stars. "Shut up! It was!"

"It really isn't the same house any more, Sirius," Ginny pointed out. "Even Kreacher has changed."

"That's what Moony tells me," said Sirius. "Still, there's something that seeps into the walls of some places. Maybe you don't feel it. I think I would."

"You have feelings?" Ginny said. "Even now?"

"Not physically, of course, but emotionally. . . Well, feelings don't really disappear when you die. That's the mistake a lot of suicides make. They think they can escape their misery by dying, but it doesn't work that way. There's a lot of emotional baggage that carries over into the next life."

"The next life? You mean. . ."

"The world beyond the physical plane," Sirius explained.

"What is it like?" Ginny asked. "The, er, world beyond, I mean."

"It depends upon the individual. No one experiences life the same way. Why should death be any different?"

"But you still _feel_ things?" Ginny said, fascinated by the concept.

"Oh, yes," said Sirius. "Of course many of the reasons for feeling the way you do disappear when you die. Envy, for example, vanishes when there's nothing left to covet. And how could bigotry exist without differences in blood status or skin color? After all, we no longer have blood, or skin for that matter. But other feelings stay with you. Love, for example. Love never dies."

"So when you love someone," Ginny said, "you love them always?"

"Of course. How could it be otherwise? What you said to Teddy on Christmas Day was true. Remus and Tonks still love their son, and James and Lily never stopped loving Harry. He feels it too, especially during moments of great stress. They've even managed to communicate with him a few times. But you know all about that."

"Yes," said Ginny. "He told me about that time in the. . . the graveyard, when Cedric . . . And again, in the Forbidden Forest when he went to offer himself up. . . But you were there too, weren't you? And Remus?"

Sirius nodded. "He called us that night. But we would have been there anyway, even without the Resurrection Stone. We might not have been visible, but we would have been there, just as we've been with him during so many other important moments in his life, the good as well as the bad."

"You mean like our wedding day?" asked Ginny, remembering what Fred had told her.

"Well, yes," said Sirius. "And. . . other auspicious occasions."

A grin flashed in the darkness, and Ginny felt her cheeks flame. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew precisely what "occasion" he was talking about.

"I must say," Sirius said in an elaborately casual tone, "I was rather proud of my own humble contribution to one particular milestone in Harry's life. I gave James quite a ribbing over it too, though it was hard to get a word in edgewise between his cries of, 'That's my boy!'"

Ginny's blush went deeper. "But that's. . . You couldn't. . . I mean. . . You weren't _watching_?"

"Well, no," he admitted. "Even in the afterlife there are rules, and privacy is top of the list. But it was a, er, pretty powerful experience, and the emotional reverberations reached out. It's like I said, we can feel emotion, and you and Harry have given all of us reason to smile. Allegorically speaking, of course."

Ginny glared at him. "Glad we could amuse."

"You do, actually." His grin broadened. "What is it with the Potter men and redheads anyway? Always preferred blondes myself. Though I have to say that if you'd been around in my time, I might have given Harry a run for you."

It felt strange to be chatted up by a ghost. Of course he wasn't really a ghost. He looked every bit as solid as any of the other dream personas she had encountered. He looked downright 'dreamy' in fact. Ginny giggled at the thought, but her response was flippant.

"What would I want with an old dog like you?" she said.

Sirius let out a loud, bark-like laugh. "Well, I had that coming. But alive or dead, I never could resist a challenge."

"Yes, there's a lot of that going around," Ginny said ruefully.

"You're talking about Harry."

"Who else?" said Ginny. "The note, Sirius. Is it really from him? Is he really safe or am I just reading more into it because I want it to be true?"

"Being dead doesn't make me omniscient, you know. But let me ask you a question: what makes you think the note _isn't_ from him?"

Ginny couldn't explain, but it had to do with something her father had once said: _"Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain." _The note reminded her in a squirming, uneasy way of Riddle's diary. It seemed to work in a similar fashion, and the fact that it had come to her through a member of the Malfoy family. . . Well, it wasn't exactly guaranteed to inspire confidence.

Sirius seemed to be reading her mind. "Why don't you try asking it a question only he would know the answer to? If the note gives the correct response, you'll know that it's really Harry, and not some Dark Force trying to trick you."

It was such a simple solution, Ginny was surprised she hadn't thought of it herself. Unless she really _had_ thought of it herself and this dream, like all the others, was merely a manifestation of her own subconscious. But there were far more pressing issues at hand just now.

"Why all the cloak and dagger?" she asked. "All right, I understand he's probably gone underground for some reason, but why couldn't he just tell me that beforehand? Why not use normal channels of communication if he wanted to let me know he was all right? And why am I supposed to keep it a secret? Why wouldn't he want others to know?"

"Maybe the normal communication channels aren't safe," said Sirius. "As to why he didn't tell you beforehand, perhaps there wasn't time. And maybe the reason you're supposed to keep it a secret is because he's doing something that involves a certain amount of risk, and letting others know might make it riskier. It wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

"No," Ginny said. "But there's risk and there's insanity, and sometimes I wonder if he knows the difference. I did hope his compulsion to put his neck on the line might soften with maturity."

"Maturity be damned," scoffed Sirius. "Let me tell you something, at the end of the day the only things you regret in life are the risks you didn't take. It wasn't until after I died that I realized how little I regretted anything I actually did. It was the things I didn't do that I ended up being sorry for."

Ginny laughed. "I can't imagine there was much you didn't do."

"Not a lot," Sirius admitted. "I always lived violently, the lows along with the highs. I fought, drank, and lusted my way through life, howling and brawling and making love with a vengeance. But I only brushed the surface of a lot of experiences most people take for granted."

"Such as?" Ginny prompted.

"A home and family, for one," Sirius said. "But coming as I did from a family that eats its own young, it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway. As it was, we seemed to diminish with successive generations. Just look at the current crop. Narcissa and Andromeda only had one child each, though I had hoped that Andie, at least, might have escaped the Curse of the Blacks. My brother, of course, didn't live long enough, and as for me. . . Well, thirteen years in Azkaban ill fits a man for meaningful relationships and being a wanted fugitive is hardly the answer to most maidenly prayers. It just wasn't in the cards, I suppose."

"You never fell in love?"

"A thousand times," replied Sirius, flashing another grin. "But the kind of love I saw between James and Lily, and later Remus and Tonks, always eluded me. Sometimes I envied them."

"It isn't always all it's cracked up to be, you know," said Ginny, as Sirius stared up at the stars. She followed his gaze and wondered if he was seeing his namesake. "It can be painful, being in love. Staying in love is no picnic either."

"No doubt," Sirius said. "I think it takes a special kind of courage to commit your life to another person. I was. . . Well, maybe I was a coward. I wasn't brave enough to take a chance that tenderness might last. Love at first sight is easy to understand. But to look at someone for a lifetime and still love that person. . . Well, that's a kind of miracle. And I had no faith in miracles. Not after Azkaban anyway."

"I've had my share of them," Ginny said, catching the reflective mood. "Harry's survival was a miracle. I ought to be grateful."

"But you're not?" Sirius guessed.

"I am," Ginny insisted. "But I'm also . . . Well, angry is the only way I can think to describe it. I'm angry that Harry volunteered for this mission. I'm angry that he always puts something ahead of us. He says I'm first in his life, but that's never been true. Do you know he actually promised me once that he would never leave me again? I was foolish enough to believe him too. How naïve was that?"

Sirius was silent for a long while before answering. "You know, I had a similar conversation with Lily once when James was away doing something for the Order. It was before they went into hiding, but she was already pregnant with Harry then, so naturally she couldn't go along and she was furious with him for taking chances. I tried to explain, though I don't think she believed me, that his love was central to everything he did, even when it took him from her. It was hard for her to see that sometimes."

"I can understand why," said Ginny. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe it doesn't to you," Sirius said. "But men and women see things differently. I don't pretend to be an expert on relationships. Far from it. But I've observed quite a lot, and observers sometimes see things that people who are right in the middle of it miss. Harry loves the same way his father did, Ginny. Just as Lily was to James, you are all things holy to him. But his course was set long ago and it's too late to change it now. There are certain people in this world who are always called upon to do what has to be done so that others can live in peace. Harry is one of those people. And if you were truly honest with yourself, you'd realize he's not the only self-sacrificing prat in this marriage. You could have asked him to stay. Why didn't you?"

Ginny sighed. She knew the answer without even thinking about it. She tended to protect Harry, even from himself, every bit as much as the reverse. But the whole 'Noble Gits United Wives Auxiliary' thing was really taking it out of her.

"So when does it get easier?" Ginny asked. "When do we get our happily ever after?"

Sirius smiled. "You think you ever will? Life doesn't work that way. Hell, not even death works that way! Even the dead have problems, though mostly those have to do with the living. But sometimes you just have to trust that, in the end, the good will outweigh the bad. You just have to take it on faith is all."

Ginny's head jerked up. Those were the very words she had used when Harry asked the question he had promised to ask again, but by that time she was already being scouted by the Holyhead Harpies.

"_I agree it's a wonderful opportunity," Harry said when she informed him of the offer. "I'd never deny you a chance to follow your dreams, but why can't we be married while you pursue them? I want to marry you, Ginny. I want to start living the rest of our lives."_

"_I want that too," Ginny assured him. "I want it as much as you do, love. But Gwenog Jones has always discouraged married players. As the only all-witch team it's sort of a tradition and. . . Well, it's not a hard and fast rule, but I'll be on reserve for at least the first year, and I don't want to do anything to spoil my chances."_

"_A year," Harry repeated flatly. "A _year_, Ginny?"_

"_We can still see each other," Ginny explained. "We'll be together every chance, but Harry, you're so busy with your Auror training, and we're still so young. We still have so much time ahead of us. Can't you take it on faith a little while longer?"_

"_How much longer?" Harry asked._

"_I don't know," she said. "But I've loved you ever since I was ten years old, and I know I'll never change. It'll happen for us, Harry. I swear it will. You just have to take it on faith is all."_

But it was nearly three years before it happened and it was a bludger accident that did it. They were playing Puddlemere United, and the Harpies were up by sixty points. But Puddlemere had a brilliant new Seeker and if he found the Snitch first, they would lose the match. Determined to give her team a more comfortable margin, Ginny seized the Quaffle and raced up the field to put it past Oliver Wood, against whom she'd already scored three goals that night. But the bludger came out of nowhere, knocking her off her broom, and she lost consciousness as she fell to earth. When she came to, she was in St. Mungo's with her family round her bed, though none were more pale or frightened than Harry who looked as though he was in far greater need of the healers' ministrations than she was herself.

Hermione later told Ginny that she'd never seen Harry in such a state. She and Ron had been with him in the stands, watching the match, when they saw the bludger hit. Ron had to physically restrain Harry from dashing onto the pitch while mediwizards magicked Ginny onto a stretcher, and once they arrived at St. Mungo's, he had nearly gone out of his mind before the healers appeared to announce that the injury was far less serious than initially feared. Ginny felt tremendous guilt when she saw the strain he had suffered, especially when she realized how close she had come to denying both of them the very thing they wanted most. For the truth was that there had been the tiniest bit of vindictiveness behind her decision to postpone marriage in order to fly with the Harpies. After all, it had forced _him_ to be the one waiting, and serve him right too! Of course she also loved the sport of Quidditch, and part of her always would. But there was a much larger part of her that loved this man who had waited so patiently for her wanderlust to spend itself, and who continued to ask the question, no matter how many times she put him off.

It was a few weeks before the holidays that Ginny put her plan into place, and she found an opportunity to implement it on Christmas Eve while they cuddled in the sitting room at the Burrow after the rest of the family had gone to bed. Her head was on his shoulder and he was playing with her hair, but the lack of enthusiasm in his voice when he said, _"Is there any point in my asking again?"_ brought another guilty pang. Clearly, he was not looking forward to being shot down once more.

"_You never know till you try," Ginny said. "Besides, it's tradition. Go on. Ask me."_

_Harry sighed, and in a rather dull voice said, "Will you marry me?"_

"_Yes."_

_Harry pulled away from their embrace to stare at her. "What did you say?"_

"_Yes," she repeated, grinning. "I gave Gwenog my resignation."_

"_You. . . you did?"_

"_I've taken a job as a Quidditch reporter for the_ Daily Prophet_. It'll involve a certain amount of travel, but at least there are no restrictions against marriage."_

_He continued to stare. "Well, say something," she prompted. "I think a spring wedding would be nice, don't. . ." But what Harry thought about a spring wedding was lost in a kiss, and the proof of his faith in the form of a ring he'd been carrying around in his pocket for more than a year. _

Ginny stared at that ring now, a diamond solitaire surrounded by emeralds that nestled beside the gold band he'd placed on her finger the following spring. She realized that Sirius had deliberately provoked the memory. It had worked, too.

"That was kind of a dirty trick, wasn't it?" Ginny said quietly, still staring at her hand.

"All's fair in love and war," Sirius replied. "And this is a bit of both. That may be another reason I shied away from marriage. It always struck me as kind of a blood sport. Not for the faint-hearted, certainly."

"Sirius," said Ginny, raising her head to look at him, "are you real?"

He arched a brow at her. "What I mean is, am I really speaking to you?" Ginny elucidated. "Or is all this just a memory?"

"What's memory but reality remembered? The spiritual world is largely unseen, but this is the way you remember me so this is the way I appear to you. Take this tree, for example." He pointed upward to a canopy of leaves, though that was strange all by itself. It was February. There shouldn't be leaves on any of the trees.

"I wondered where that came from," Ginny said. "I never saw it before."

"Its spirit is still here. That's why you see it now."

"Trees have spirits?" asked Ginny.

"All living things do. It's human arrogance to assume that we alone have a spiritual life. In my Animagus form, I met a lot of dogs with a greater capacity for love and kindness than most humans. Given a choice between spending eternity with a Newfoundland or someone like my mother, I'll take the Newfie every time. But this old tree and I always understood one another. I nestled in its branches as a boy, when I came out here to escape my family's madness, and it sheltered me through many storms. It got hit by lightning when I was about thirteen. It was like losing a friend. I mourned it for the rest of my life."

Ginny stared at the dark, handsome face, unable to think of anything to say. "My Uncle Alphard had a passion for Muggle novels," Sirius went on. "He used to sneak them to me whenever he had finished one. But my dear old mum wouldn't allow what she called 'Muggle trash' in the house, so I always came out here to read them on my favorite bough. That wide one, just there." He pointed to a low, wide branch directly overhead. "That was where I first read a book by an American novelist called _A Farewell to Arms._ There was a line in that one that I thought about constantly while I was in Azkaban. 'The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places.' The world broke me, Ginny. It'll probably break you and Harry too, if it hasn't already. But if it doesn't break you, it'll kill you. So you might as well go for broke, right?"

"'Go for broke?'" Ginny repeated, her lips twitching. "How long have you been waiting to use that?"

"A long time," Sirius grinned. "Thanks for the opportunity!"

Ginny laughed. "I should have seen it coming." Her smile faded quickly, for she could tell their time was nearly at an end. There was a feeling of something retreating, a kind of pulling away. But she had one more question to ask. "The baby, Sirius. What can you tell me about the baby?"

"Which baby? Little James Sirius? Nice one, by the way, naming him after two Marauders. Of course you do realize that means you're well in for it. He has quite a reputation to live up to."

Ginny frowned. "What's that supposed to. . ."

"No fair spoiling the surprise," Sirius said, waggling a finger at her. "After all, that's half the fun. But listen, Ginny, don't worry about the baby. Or Harry either for that matter. They're both guided by the same spirits, and those spirits will guide both of them home."

"What?" said Ginny. "What do you mean by. . ."

"Can't leave Prongs and Moony on their own too long," Sirius said, rubbing his hands together, though strangely, they now looked more like paws. "They grow terribly despondent whenever I'm away for extended periods. It's touching, really." He looked up again and added, "Oh, come on! You know it's true!"

"Sirius!" Ginny called out, as before her eyes he transformed into the large black dog and loped away, but not before lifting a leg on the friendly tree, almost a salute in passing. "Sirius, wait. . ."

* * *

The dark garden faded from view, as did the star-studded sky. Ginny was once again in Sirius's old bedroom. She opened her eyes and realized she was still clutching the yellowed bit of parchment with seven words scratched upon it: _Well but missing you Home soon-Harry_

Ginny stared at it for a moment before folding the note along the same lines it had been folded before. She wasn't sure how she knew this was what she was supposed to do, but somehow she knew it was right. When she opened it again, it was to find that the words had vanished, leaving only the number 7 in their place. Ginny reached for the quill she had used earlier and composed a question, being careful to write seven words: _Where and when was our first time_

The words faded immediately. Minutes later an answer appeared: _Sirius room your birthday I love you_

Ginny smiled. Only one person knew the answer to that question. One living person anyway. She didn't know how Harry was doing this, but for now at least, it was enough to know that he was. For a little while longer, she could continue to take it on faith.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I have a bit of a monster week coming up with mega-demands on my time. I'll do my best to get as much written this weekend as possible, but there will probably be delays in posting new chapters, so please bear with me. I promise not to abandon you any longer than absolutely necessary. Hope there was plenty of love in your life, in whatever form that might take, this Valentine's Day.

* * *

_**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Mimosa: **Don't have a heart attack. You know it'll all work out for the best. How else will I get this family to _The Letter_? I don't have a business degree, but I have a passion for both history and politics, and corporate interests tend to flow through both. Unfortunately. As to what a girl witch might do to inspire amnesia, I imagine the same things Muggle girls do, but I'm not the one who's naughty – it's Ginny! I suppose I did make her rather Eve-like in that chapter. Actually, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Harry didn't have visions of her holding out an apple with a snake round her neck (lol!). On the other hand, I don't think he tried very hard. Don't forget, he was 18 at the time and, Chosen One or not, he's human. And yes, I did raise one eyebrow when I wrote the line about bad manners. The English have given the world many wondrous things: the Magna Carta, Shakespeare, Dickens, the Beatles, and tea cosies, but good manners surely tops the list. Thanks for your always amusing and flattering reviews. I really appreciate it.

**Amy:** So you think Lucius is Harry using Polyjuice? I can tell you this much: even if it's true, there's more to it than meets the eye. You read _The Letter_, so you know my habit of wrapping mysteries within mysteries. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Wait and see!

**Niffler:** Yes, the communications method Harry & Ginny are using is similar to the diary, but there's a difference. Harry has worked safety features into it, but you won't find out about that till later.

**Padfootprongs7: **You're obviously a Sirius lover (duh - what was my first clue?). He seems to have a large fan club.

**Sunlitdaz14: **Well now, get off theedge of your seat before you fall and hurt yourself. Glad I've got you hooked. I see my evil plan is working!

**Potterholic87:** Another one ready for the loony bin! I seem to have inspired a mental health crisis. I'll try to keep the updates coming, I promise.

**megg:** First of all, welcome to FFN! I'm about an inch away from pulling out of Mugglenet, so I'm very glad you found me here. I think you'll like the speed with which updates are posted on this site, and I'm pleased you like you the story which you (finally!) had a chance to read. Thanks!

**MidnightKat:** I can't really answer your question, but I guarantee there's more to it than you think.

**infinity:** Good point about Ginny trusting something whose "brain" she can't see, but as you've just seen, Sirius helped her resolve that dilemma.

**Jacqueline:** Yet another Sirius lover! Hope you feel I've done him justice.

**luna:** Okay, take a breath. It'll be all right, honest!

**Kim:** I appreciate your comments.


	18. Chapter 18: Keeping the Faith

_**A/N:**__ A million apologies for the long delay in posting this chapter, but as I predicted it's been a monster week with countless distractions that cut seriously (Siriusly?) into my writing time. Unfortunately, next week doesn't look a whole lot better, but I already have part of the next chapter written, so hopefully it won't take quite as long. Bear with me, please, and rest assured that by hook or by crook, I will keep this story going to the not so bitter end._

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Keeping the Faith_

Ginny felt as if she had just fallen asleep when she was awakened by a tap on the door and her mother's voice announcing that the Minister had arrived and wished to speak with her.

"I put him in the study," Molly explained. "He said he wanted to talk with you privately. Maybe he has news of Harry!"

"James," Ginny muttered in a sleepy voice, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Already fed, bathed and dressed," Molly informed her. "Your father is in the nursery with him now, playing with those Muggle toys they both love so much. Hurry up, dear, Kingsley is waiting!"

After the briefest of ablutions, Ginny pulled on some clothes and ran a comb through her hair. Then she reached under her pillow for the note and slipped it into a pocket before descending the stairs to the study, where Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking very official in ministerial robes, stared moodily into the fire.

"Ginny," he said in his deep voice, straightening to his full height and filling the entire room with his calming presence. "I apologize for the early hour. Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice."

"Of course, Minister. May I pour you some coffee?" She gestured toward a tray with a coffee pot and two cups which either Molly or Kreacher had apparently provided.

"Yes, please," Kingsley replied. "Black, no sugar."

While Ginny poured for both of them, Kingsley pointed his wand at the door, sealing it with Imperturbable and Silencing charms. "Better to be safe," he explained. "I've had far too much experience with your brothers and those Extendable Ears."

They settled down with cups in hand, and Shacklebolt began by saying, "I want to apologize sincerely for the miserable night you have no doubt just passed. I would have come much sooner but for a communications snafu that was only resolved a short while ago."

"You have news of Harry?" she asked, going pale despite the reassurance of the note.

"I've received an encouraging communication," Shacklebolt said. "I have reason to believe he is in a safe location. However, I would urge you in the strongest possible terms to say nothing, not even to members of your family. You must not attempt to contact him either. Owls and other normal communication channels are unsafe at this time."

Ginny felt for the note in her pocket. She thought about taking it out and asking if this was one of the channels he was talking about. Then she remembered Astoria Malfoy saying, "Tell no one." Shacklebolt was unaware of the note's existence, and something told her it would be best to keep it that way.

"Where is he?" Ginny demanded. "What's going on, Minister?"

Shacklebolt's smile was strained. "Harry tells me you're writing a history of the Order of the Phoenix. Having immersed yourself in that history, you will no doubt understand the importance of confidentiality."

"No, Minister," Ginny said. "That's not good enough. Not this time."

Shacklebolt blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Harry has told me very little," said Ginny. "I'll understand if there are certain things you cannot reveal. But as you yourself pointed out, I just passed through a night of hell. I'm his wife, Kingsley. I'm think I'm entitled to a few answers, don't you?"

The Minister's face remained impassive. "Do you honestly think I would say or do anything to jeopardize Harry's safety?" Ginny went on. "Whatever you tell me will never go beyond this room. And if it's my own peace of mind that's making you hold back, let me assure you there is nothing you can say that could possibly be worse than what my imagination has already conjured."

Shacklebolt sighed. "Harry took an oath that bound him to silence. All Aurors take such an oath. I am as yet bound by it myself."

"And I am bound by my love for my husband," Ginny said. "That's about as binding as it gets."

Kingsley continued to stare at her. He must have seen something in her eyes, or perhaps the stubborn set of her shoulders, but he seemed to thaw a bit.

"Harry has been acting on my personal authority," he said finally. "His disappearance wasn't planned, but if not for the mix-up I mentioned earlier, I would have known about it before the Auror office was notified, and you and I would both have been spared a difficult night. The usual communications channels worked with uncommon speed and efficiency in this instance. If it had worked the way it usually does, Hines still wouldn't know what had happened."

"Excuse me, Minister," said Ginny. "Are you telling me that Harry's boss, Mr. Hines, doesn't know what he's been doing?"

"Hines is a good man," Shacklebolt said cautiously. "He was a competent Auror in his day, but a combination of age and nerves has made him overcautious. However, I believe I just about have him talked into retiring. This episode seems to have shaken him rather badly. As the saying goes, it's an ill wind."

"So Harry was actually working for you?"

"I'd been receiving reports for months about a very serious situation that Hines either would not or could not get his head around. So I asked Harry, in confidence, to take charge of the matter."

"_You_ asked him?" said Ginny, confused. "He told me that he volunteered."

"The assignment he volunteered for was based on an invitation from the Croatian Ministry to investigate rumors of unrest on their borders. That came through proper channels with the Auror Department, but it was primarily a cover. Harry has been taking his orders directly from me."

"Why Harry? There are other Aurors with more experience. . ."

"He's faced situations no other Auror could begin to match," Kingsley said with a trace of impatience. "I need hardly enumerate those for you. And there is no other man I would trust to handle something of this magnitude."

"It's that serious?"

"I'm afraid so."

Ginny took a long, fortifying breath. "You said his disappearance wasn't planned. What happened?"

"Well, that's the part I can't tell you about. Suffice it to say the communication I received this morning assured me of his well being. However, it is necessary for the world to go on believing he is missing. That is why you must say nothing about what we've discussed."

Ginny didn't know what to think. Was Harry safe or was he missing? Was he somehow both? She decided to press for more information, or at least as much she could get.

"Harry told me there are former Death Eaters involved," said Ginny. "I also gathered it has something to do with Muggles."

"Yes," Shacklebolt said. "That's part of the reason I was forced to conduct this affair clandestinely. The Wizengamot is still comprised of a great many witches and wizards who would rather close their eyes to what goes on in the non-magical world. Harry's mission has to do with Muggle politics. Specifically, wizard interference in Muggle politics."

"But that's the same thing that happened before," Ginny said. "The Death Eaters attacked a prominent Muggle official here in Britain. What was his name? Herbert something?"

"Herbert Chorley," said Shacklebolt. "He had a bad reaction to an Imperius Curse, or we might never have heard about him. Unfortunately, people have short memories. They don't want to remember how terrible things were back then, and they certainly don't want to hear about some of the plans we uncovered that were never carried out. We've learned quite a lot from the Death Eaters we have in custody. Young Teddy Lupin, for example, was apparently a target of theirs."

"Teddy?" The child in her belly gave a sickening lurch, as though in response to his mother's horror. "But he was only a baby! What possible threat. . ."

"His father was a werewolf," Shacklebolt said. "That made him an abomination in their eyes. They would have murdered him in his cradle if they'd had the chance. Those attitudes still exist, I'm afraid, and with enough others willing to ignore them, it could happen again."

"But there are sensible wizards and witches," said Ginny. "Surely if you explain. . ."

"There are many sensible witches and wizards," Kingsley acknowledged. "But there are an equal number of others who aren't interested in explanations, and even the sensible ones, for the most part, aren't willing to disrupt their orderly world. It's the same old story we dealt with before, and far too many are short-sighted when it comes to Muggles. What they can't seem to understand is that it's not an either-or situation, but the good of all that is at stake. There are changes taking place in the world right now that will affect the way we all live in the future. That's why the mission Harry has undertaken is of such vital importance, and. . .Well, write your book Ginny. Remind people what it was like. Maybe it'll be a wake-up call. Merlin knows it's long overdue."

Ginny thought of all those who had fought and died and wondered how, after everything they had sacrificed, these destructive attitudes could still exist. Had it all been for nothing? Would there always be those who spread intolerance and hate, and would another Dark Lord rise from the bubbling cauldron of fear? But tyrants did not grow in a vacuum and evil could not flourish without complacency. There was reason to hope, for there were those few who would stand up to injustice and fight with their last breath against the purveyors of darkness. People like Harry, for example, and all those who fought at his side. And Ginny would make people remember those who had stood for what was right while everyone else turned the other way. There were things worth fighting and dying for. She had learned that lesson long ago. Perhaps all it needed was a reminder.

"It's not much longer now, is it?" said Shacklebolt, breaking into her thoughts. "The, er, blessed event, I mean."

"Another ten weeks," said Ginny. "I know it looks like more. . ."

"No, no, not at all," Shacklebolt said hastily. "I only meant. . . Well, you're positively glowing, so I assumed it must be sooner."

Nice save, Ginny thought, smiling. "Thank you, but I'm not officially due until late April."

"Ah," Shacklebolt said. "Well, Harry should be home in plenty of time. Long before, if my latest information is any guide."

"This information," said Ginny. "It came from Harry?"

"Through a third party, actually," the Minister clarified. "That was the reason for the delay. The messenger was prevented from reaching me by my staff who assumed, quite wrongly as it turned out, that this individual posed some sort of threat."

"Was it, by any chance, one of the Malfoys?"

Kingsley blinked. "How did you know?"

Ginny felt again for the note in her pocket. "Lucky guess."

* * *

No matter whose house they happened to find themselves in, the Weasleys always seemed to end up in the kitchen. It was their default setting, Ginny often thought, as though some gravitational force pulled them toward wherever food and drink was located. By the time she and Kingsley emerged from the study, several Weasleys had already gathered around the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place. Kreacher was notable by his absence, as was usually the case whenever Molly invaded his kitchen, and Molly herself was busily engaged in whipping up a hearty breakfast. Arthur was talking to Bill, who had turned up with Fleur and their children, and Ron and Hermione were arguing about something, though they stopped abruptly when Ginny appeared with the Minister. Ginny was not surprised to see Teddy and Andromeda as well, for the Weasley grapevine was the most efficient in the wizarding world, and news of the Minister's visit would have spread faster than Fiendfyre. 

If they all thought they were going to hear anything about Harry, however, they were sadly disappointed. After a brief exchange of greetings, Kingsley mentioned something about being late for a meeting with the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, and escaped via the kitchen fireplace, leaving Ginny to face many pairs of expectant eyes.

"There's nothing yet," she said in answer to the unspoken inquiries. "He just wanted to let me know he's on top of the situation and hopes to have some answers soon."

Hermione, Ginny noticed, was eyeing her suspiciously. She would have to be avoided. Fortunately, Ron merely looked depressed. Ginny felt a pang of sympathy for her brother. Harry's disappearance had hit him very hard, and Ginny wished with all her heart that she could tell him the truth. Not that the truth would be all that comforting. Ginny looked at Teddy and felt a shudder run through her. They would have killed him, she thought. They would have murdered him just for being born.

"Are you cold, dear?" asked Molly. "You haven't caught a chill, have you?"

"No," said Ginny, shaking off her thoughts as she sank into a chair next to her father who gave her an affectionate pat. "Where are George and Percy?"

"George said he and Katie will stop by after the shop closes," Ron explained. "We couldn't both be away, so he told me to come ahead. Nice of him, I thought."

"And you know Percy," said Bill. "He missed half a day of work yesterday, and didn't feel he could be away two days in a row. I think he and Penny will stop by later, though. Oh, and there was an owl from Charlie. He's waiting for a clutch of eggs to hatch just now, but wants us to keep him apprised and says he'll come home straight away if . . . Well, if there's a need."

"What about you, Bill?" Ginny asked. "Won't the goblins miss you?"

"Gringotts can stumble along without me for one more day," said Bill. "It'll be a near thing, but I think they'll manage."

Fleur, who was uncovering a basket of freshly baked croissants, turned to give Ginny a dazzling smile. Ginny smiled back and felt overwhelming love for all of them. Tears shone in her eyes as she looked round her kitchen. What a wonderful thing families were, and how lucky she was to have the one she did.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" asked Arthur as Molly set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her and urged her to tuck in, with the reminder that she was eating for two.

"I'm fine, Dad," she assured him, and turned her attention to the food. The children had apparently already eaten, but Victoire created a distraction by grabbing James round the middle when he toddled over to where she was helping Teddy set up a ramp for a set of toy cars.

"Come on, Teddy," Victoire said. "Let's play like James is our baby. I'll be the mummy and you be the daddy."

"Don't want to," said Teddy. "And turn him loose! You're hurting him."

"Am not," Victoire replied. "He wants to play with us, don't you, James?"

"No, no, no!" said James, making use of his favorite new word. It was one he had found quite handy for almost any occasion, and he repeated it several more times as he pushed away from his cousin. Unfortunately, the force of his propulsion caused him to tumble into the car ramp, which made him cry. Teddy wasn't too happy about it either.

"Now look what you've done!" Teddy shouted at Victoire, as Ginny and Fleur went running over to assess the damage.

"He's all right," said Ginny, dusting James off and setting him next to Romy and Remy who were hard at work on a tower of building blocks. James stopped crying at once and entered into the spirit of the thing by demolishing the tower, which the twins, fortunately, seemed to regard as highly amusing.

Victoire stood with her finger in her mouth, looking scared, but Fleur merely brushed the bright hair back from her forehead and said, "James is not a small baby anymore, chéri. 'E is a big boy now, but soon zere will be two new babies for you to play wiz, no?"

Hermione patted her belly. "That's right, Victoire. Just a few more months and you'll meet little Rose."

"Or little Septimus," said Ron.

"We are _not_ calling this baby Septimus," Hermione said. "How many times have we been over this, Ronald?"

"It was my grandfather's name," Ron protested. "He gave me my first chess set!"

"Actually, no one ever called Dad by his proper name," Arthur said musingly. "He was Shep to most people. Odd sort of nickname, but that's what they called him. Old Shep Weasley."

"There you are, Hermione," said Ron triumphantly. "If it's a boy, we'll call him Shep."

"Perhaps we could also teach him to fetch and roll over," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Ron scowled at her. "Well, at least we're agreed on what to call a girl. We _are_ agreed, aren't we? You're still okay with Rose?"

"Of course," said Hermione. "It's simple and direct, yet feminine."

"Not to mention fragrant," Bill said dryly. "What about a middle name?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look and both smiled at the same time. "Molly," Hermione said.

Molly turned from the stove. "Yes, dear?"

"No, Mum, that's the middle name we've chosen," said Ron. "If this baby is a girl, we're calling her Rose Molly."

Molly stood as though struck by a Freezing charm. "You're not serious?"

"Very serious," said Hermione, smiling.

Molly enveloped her youngest son and his wife in one of her signature bone-crushing hugs. "I'm so touched. And so proud. And honored and. . . Oh, my dears!"

"Well done, you two," said Arthur approvingly, as Molly turned back to the stove, wiping her eyes on her apron. "Couldn't have chosen better myself."

"What about you, Ginny?" asked Andromeda. "What have you decided what to call your new little one?"

"Well, it'll be Lily for a girl and Albus for a boy," Ginny said. "But we still hadn't decided on middle names before Harry left."

A sudden hush replaced the jovial mood of a minute before. "Oh, for heaven's sake," Ginny said. "Don't look at me like that! I'm not a widow."

"Of course not, dear," said Molly, patting her shoulder absently.

Teddy and Victoire stared at all the adults, puzzled by the change in mood. "Why don't you go out into the garden, Teddy?" Andromeda suggested. "It's such a lovely day. Perhaps Victoire would like to go with you."

Teddy gathered up his cars and glanced at Victoire, who regarded him uncertainly. "Well, grab the ramp," he told her. Pleased that she had apparently been forgiven, Victoire collected all the bits Teddy had been trying to put back together and skipped after him.

"I'm all right," Ginny said once the children were out of earshot. "Really, I am."

"Ginny, Fleur and I have been talking," Bill said. "We'd like for you and James to come stay with us at Shell Cottage."

"We don't like to zink of you all alone," said Fleur. "Especially wiz all ze troubles you are 'aving wiz zis baby. If anyzing should go wrong. . ."

"If Ginny goes anywhere it'll be the Burrow," Molly declared. "It's times like this that a girl needs her mother!"

"Ginny should stay with us," said Ron. "She needs to be somewhere that's handy to St. Mungo's."

"I can still take you to all your appointments," Hermione added. "And we're only a few blocks from an Underground Station if you want to get out on your own."

"I'm only a few blocks from an Underground Station here, too," Ginny pointed out.

"Well, we're not letting you stay by yourself," Molly said adamantly. "If you won't come to us, your father and I will move in here to look after you."

"I don't need looking after, Mum," Ginny protested. "I'm not a child!"

"We know you're not," said Arthur. "But your mother's right. You shouldn't be on your own at a time like this."

Ginny looked around helplessly. There were too many of them. She couldn't fight them all. What had she just been thinking about what a blessing families could be? Feeling frustrated, she pushed back from the table and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Ron.

"I need some air," Ginny replied, but she paused at the door to throw back over her shoulder, "I'll check on Teddy and Victoire while I'm out there. Keep an eye on James, won't you?"

Ginny made as if for the back door, but doubled back to the sitting room where she took a quill from the writing desk and drew the parchment from her pocket. This was why she could not have others near. She could not let them see the note or know that she was in touch with Harry, and how could she hide what she knew with all those eyes upon her? Ginny quickly unfolded the note and scribbled a new message on the page: _Kingsley here Told lots When coming home_

The words disappeared at once, but it was several minutes before a new message appeared: _All goes well two weeks Cant wait_

Ginny hesitated a minute, then refolded the note. When she opened it again and saw the number 7, she wrote another message: _Family driving me mad Need you desperately_

This time new words appeared almost before the old ones faded: _Need you too Will come soon Promise_

Ginny smiled and wrote one more message: _Bye for now Dream of me Love_

The words faded and were quickly replaced by: _Always in dreams Always in heart Love_

Ginny replaced the note in her pocket, but when she finally reached the back garden she was surprised to find Andromeda already there. "Your mother wanted to come after you," she explained. "I convinced her to let me come instead."

Ginny gave her a wary look, but Andromeda did not ask where she had been or what she'd been doing. Ginny waited, but Andromeda offered no explanation and it seemed to take a long time before she said, "I'll talk to Molly. I'll make her understand."

Ginny longed to ask, 'Understand what?' But she was unwilling to press her luck with this unexpected ally. Ginny stared at the older woman, who had always seemed so unapproachable. One would never know from that haughty demeanor that she had lost everything save her dignity and the little blue-haired boy whom those others considered an abomination.

"Thank you," said Ginny.

"No problem," Andromeda replied.

The stood in silence, watching the children play in the exact spot where a tree had once stood. Come to think of it, children always seemed drawn to that part of the garden. It had long been Teddy's favorite place to play whenever he visited here. Ginny remembered what the dream Dumbledore had said: _"Most children can see spirits, before they become blinded by that we adults call reality._ Would this child be drawn to that place as well? Would he know that once there had been a refuge that sheltered a lost boy? Ginny spread her hands over the place where the new life lay curled inside her, and Sirius's voice seemed to drift on the wind: "_They're guided by the same spirits, and those spirits will guide both of them home."_ Who are you, little one, Ginny wondered. What are you?

"You know," Andromeda said, startling Ginny out of her reverie, "my sisters and I took lessons here when we were children. In this house, I mean."

"Did you?" said Ginny, though she already knew the answer.

"We had a tutor," Andromeda went on, her nostrils flaring in one of the few signs of emotion she ever seemed to show. "Don't know what made me think of him just now. Horrid man, really. Hooked nose. Very rheumy eyes. Dreadful temper. His name was. . . Oh, dear, what _was_ his name? I must have blocked it out. Hardly surprising."

"Blunt," said Ginny. "Austerus Blunt."

Andromeda turned to her with a look of mild surprise. "How did. . . Oh, of course. Sirius must have told you."

"Yes, he did," Ginny said with an ironic smile. "Once."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I miscalculated Ginny's pregnancy in an earlier chapter when Healer Giatros indicated she was at 25 weeks gestation during her prenatal visit. She would actually be at about 28 weeks, and I've changed that chapter to reflect the correction (sorry about that – my arithmetic is almost as scary as J.K. Rowling's). For those who have been asking, Ginny and Hermione are both at about 28-29 weeks in this chapter. A normal pregnancy lasts around 40 weeks which puts their due date in late April. _

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Mimosa: **Exactly! Combine austere and blunt, and you get Austerus Blunt. Sounds rather forbidding, doesn't he? I felt so bad for Harry when Sirius died. I really liked your description of him as a handsome rogue. I think it's that dark, brooding quality that makes him so sexy and mysterious. He also strikes me as a rather Hemingway-ish figure with an adventurer's gleam in his eye, which is why I included the quote from _A Farewell to Arms_. I'm glad you liked him. I couldn't resist his "salute" to the tree. It seemed like the sort of thing Padfoot would do, don't you think?

**Amy:** Jo did go on a bit of a homicidal tear through some of the best characters, didn't she? Sirius's death was hard enough, but I'll personally never forgive her for killing Fred or Remus & Tonks. And I'll shake out my sleeves soon so you can see what I have up there!

**Jules22potter:** I'm glad you liked my (Sirius's) thoughts about the afterlife. It's a subject I've read and thought a lot about, though of course adding magical elements makes it even more interesting. I'm not a big fan of Hemingway (where did all the adverbs go?) but he write some brilliant lines, and the "strong in the broken places" quote is one of my all time favorites. I appreciate your comments.

**Celestina:** I like the idea of our dearly departed watching over us, but I quite with you, there are certain limits. Glad you liked Harry's proposal(s). Poor guy! She kept him dangling, didn't she?

**ChickenChild:** It was definitely Arthur that warned Ginny "not to trust anything that can think for itself. . . etc.," rather than Molly. I double-checked it. The dreams have to do with both Ginny and Harry, but more specifically with baby Albus. It's all connected, believe me.

**Padfootprongs7: **Glad you thought I did justice to Sirius. He's not an easy character to write. We really didn't see a whole lot of him in the books.

**Sunlitdaz14: **I'm pleased to have set your mind (and Ginny's) at rest over the veracity of the note. Thanks for your review.

**anie:** Thanks very much. I'm glad you liked my version of Sirius.

**Funfetti:** Are there a lot of Hermione-suffering-from-infertility stories out there? I know of one other, but couldn't say I've read a lot of them.

**Christina:** I'm glad "my" Sirius fit your imagination. He's a bit more philosophical in this story than we saw him in the books, but death could have that effect on a man.

**Faith:** I'm a big Remus fan as well, but Sirius seems to have that "bad boy" mystique that so many women find fascinating (I've run into his type quite a lot in real life, actually). You will definitely hear more about the Malfoys before this story ends. There's a hint of it in this chapter, but much more in the next.

**Chinchillaqueen13:** A lot of people liked the "That's my boy!" comment. It does seem the sort of thing James Potter would say, doesn't it? Glad it gave you a laugh.


	19. Chapter 19: Global Initiatives

_**A/N:**__ This chapter represents a dramatic departure from the norm, as this one is entirely from Harry's POV. Hopefully it won't throw anyone for too much of a loop, but I couldn't think of another way to explain all this. In case anyone considers it too drastic, keep in mind that all the different elements in this story are connected: baby Albus, the dreams, Harry's mission, Harry & Ginny's relationship, even the parchment with 7 words (and if that doesn't confuse the hell out of you, nothing will). But stick with me awhile longer. There is a method to my madness, I swear._

**Chapter Eighteen**

_Global Initiatives_

It was too early for any of the shops to be open. The cafes were still empty and tourists were conspicuously absent. In the harbor, fishermen were already busy with their nets, but on the marble flagstone square, only one elderly man, bundled against the morning chill, sat on a bench reading a newspaper in the dawning light. He looked up at a slight disturbance in the air, as if something or someone had just passed by, but seeing nothing, he put it down to the brisk, salty breeze rolling in off the sea and returned to his paper without another thought.

An abandoned cigar shop stood on the outskirts of the small fishing village, its windows boarded up and dotted with signs in distinct Slavic script, warning of danger and dire consequences for trespassing. No one ever went near the place, and no one noticed when the battered wooden door fluttered open as though of its own volition. Inside, invisible to Muggle eyes, were several desks and filing cabinets. Behind a partition were cots, separated by curtains for privacy, but clearly a space inhabited by bachelors if the jumble of books, papers, and wadded up clothing was any indication.

Two men were present, one middle-aged and one fairly young. Both were swarthy and mustached, and both were seated at a round table, enjoying a breakfast of rolls and tea. A sudden sweep of a silvery cloak revealed a third occupant, though this one was clean-shaven, wore a pair of round-framed glasses, and there was an oddly shaped scar on his forehead, just visible beneath a fringe of messy, black hair. "_Dobro jutro_!" he said in greeting.

"_Dobro jutro_!" replied the younger man, who seemed not at all surprised to see someone materialize in their midst. "You learn Croatian?"

"That's about all I've learned, Niko," Harry said, tossing the invisibility cloak over a chair before helping himself to tea and joining the two men at the table. "I tried to say 'goodbye' in your language the other day and nearly chipped two teeth. Lucky for me you speak such excellent English."

The younger man beamed, but his older counterpart, a burly security wizard called Horvath who boasted an impressive set of eyebrows to go with his moustache, scowled at Harry. "Vere haff you been?"

"Just doing a little reconnaissance," said Harry, tilting his chair back on two legs as he sipped his tea.

"In the middle of the night?" asked Horvath skeptically.

Harry shrugged, unwilling to describe the bizarre dream that had awakened him and refused to let him go back to sleep. It wasn't one of his usual nightmares of the Battle or events leading up to it, but just. . . strange. In this dream, Ginny had been talking to Sirius in the back garden at Grimmauld Place, and he had a very vivid impression of a large, leafy tree. A tree, of all things! What the hell was that all about?

"I wanted another look at the location before the meeting tomorrow," Harry explained, taking a small scrap of parchment from his pocket and looking at it before stuffing it back again. "I just wanted to make sure everything is in place."

"Everything _is_ in place," Horvath insisted. "The plan is foolproof. It vill be like using firearms on a bucket of fish."

Horvath was a great devotee of Muggle films, but it took Harry a minute to figure out what he was trying to say. "Do you mean, 'shooting fish in a barrel?'"

"_Da_," said Horvath without cracking a smile. "It vill be like that."

Clearly puzzled, Niko asked, "Vot does it mean?"

"I believe it's an American expression," Harry informed him. "It means something very easy."

"Americans shoot fish?" said Niko incredulously. "They vould not be much good for eating, I am thinking."

"Never mind, Kovac," Horvath growled, then turned back to Harry. "You are supposed to be staying out of sight! You should not vander about on your own!"

"I didn't vander. . . I mean, wander anywhere," Harry insisted. "I went directly to the meeting site in Prizren and came straight back."

"Vot if somebody saw you?" Horvath persisted. "The Death Eaters have confidence to move ahead because they are thinking Harry Potter is no threat. If you are seen, it vill blow our blanket!"

Harry refrained from pointing out that the correct term was 'blow our cover.' "No one saw me, Ivan. I know how to avoid detection. Believe me, I've had plenty of practice."

Horvath's scowl deepened as Harry pulled the scrap of parchment out of his pocket again. "Vot is that thing you keep looking at?" he demanded.

"It's nothing," said Harry, stuffing it back into his pocket. "Just a note."

Horvath took another bite of roll and chewed it thoughtfully. "You haff the Extradition Orders for Rookwood?"

Harry patted his other pocket. "Signed, sealed, and delivered. Minister Shacklebolt writes that his old cell in Azkaban is waiting for him."

"And the others vill be guests at Nurmengard for a long time," Horvath said grimly. "Vat about the voman?"

"I'm meeting with her later today," Harry replied.

"Take Kovac," Horvath said.

"I don't think. . ."

"Take him," Horvath ordered. "Ve are responsible for your safety, _Gospodin_ Potter. And that voman is a Death Eater."

"_Was _a Death Eater," Harry corrected. "And she has demanded anonymity. She'll Disapparate immediately if anyone comes with me."

"Take him anyvay," said Horvath. "He can stay out of sight."

Harry sighed in resignation. These Croatian security wizards all suffered from a kind of paranoia that would have made Mad-Eye Moody proud. But given their history and the volatility of their neighbors, Harry supposed he could hardly blame them. Their own country was relatively peaceful, but it was from this very region that the madness the Muggles called World War I had first sprung. That had led to a second world war, and the potential was there for a third unless measures were taken to stop it. And it _had_ to be stopped, because this time the Muggles had the ability to destroy everything. And it wasn't just Muggles who were in danger this time, but the fate of the entire planet that was at risk.

After living with the Dursleys, Harry knew only too well how petty, vengeful, and ridiculous Muggles could be, but only recently had he learned just how much wizards influenced Muggle affairs and what an impact this could have on world events. It was while working undercover to protect the Muggle Prime Minister during the war that Kingsley Shacklebolt had discovered a disturbing connection between what some wizards called Muggle-baiting and outright manipulation of those in positions of power into making irrational decisions that affected huge numbers of people. There were a few Muggle politicians who seemed extremely susceptible to Dark Magic, and the global impact had the potential to be catastrophic. Harry was one of the few British Aurors who knew that Kingsley had been holding secret meetings with magical officials from other nations who had, unfortunately, responded primarily with apathy. But a few had been receptive, and one of those was the Croatian Minister for Magic.

When a handful of Death Eaters started turning up in various places throughout the Balkans, nearly always in connection with some act of terrorism, the small, underfunded Croatian Ministry turned to Great Britain for assistance, and Kingsley Shacklebolt responded by offering them no less a personage than Harry Potter. Harry understood all too clearly the gravity of the situation, understood also why Kingsley had asked him to take charge, but he nevertheless accepted the assignment with great reluctance. Guilt tore at him whenever he thought about Ginny and James, especially as the mission dragged on well past the few weeks they had originally estimated. He knew that he could not abandon his post, especially not at such a critical juncture, but there were times when only the greatest strength of will prevented him from catching the next series of portkeys back to England and telling anyone who objected to fly straight to hell on the fastest available broomstick.

Harry couldn't remember a time when he wasn't being asked to do the impossible. From his Muggle relatives' insistence that he repress magic he hadn't even known he possessed, to a tournament he hadn't entered, to defending claims that nobody believed, to tracking down and destroying pieces of Voldemort's soul, Harry had long felt the weight of great expectations, and frankly he was sick of it. He had perhaps foolishly assumed that with time his burdens would grow lighter. Instead he found himself juggling even more demands until he no longer knew which way to turn. He knew which way he _wanted_ to turn, and that was towards his family. It was the dream of his lifetime and he'd finally achieved it, but he also knew how naïve it was to expect that, having once saved the world, the world would then leave him alone.

The fact was that however much Harry may have wanted to hide from the world, he and his family had to live in it, and it did not always wait for personal convenience before exploding into chaos. What's more, he had watched too many witches and wizards turn away while evil took hold, and how many good witches and wizards had died as a consequence? Harry thought so often of words spoken to him in the Forbidden Forest long ago: _"I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life."_ Remus Lupin had made the ultimate sacrifice for his son. Could Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, do any less for his own? How could he look James, soon-to-be-little-Albus, and any other children he and Ginny might have in the eye, if ever once he had a chance to make the world they would inherit a happier, safer, less fear-ridden place, and he refused to do it?

But knowing these things did not make it any easier. Harry longed for home with a yearning that seemed to permeate his very soul. He often felt that if he were to let go of whatever he was holding onto at the time he would float out of the window across the Adriatic Sea, through Italy, Switzerland, France, and over the English Channel until he landed at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London, the only place on earth he really wanted to be. But since he didn't have the ability to float, and he did have a job to do, he bent his will to the task, and worked day and night to bring it to the swiftest possible conclusion. Fortunately, there was a ray of light at the end of the tunnel, for an opportunity had recently opened up to make short work of a tall problem. It had driven him into hiding, but if tomorrow's meeting came off the way they planned, it would all be worth it.

Later that day, accompanied by his faithful Croatian shadow, Harry Apparated under his invisibility cloak to the address his contact had specified, and was surprised to find himself outside an old Romanesque church. Instructing Kovac to wait outside, he entered a nave lit only by sunlight coming in through stained glass windows. Harry could see, even in the gloom, that the place was in bad repair, but there was a sense of peace about it that seemed to emanate from the very walls. It was deserted, save for a single cloaked and hooded figure sitting in one of the back pews. Harry approached in silence. When he was a few feet away the hood turned toward him and a woman's voice whispered, "Potter?"

Harry's only response was to sit beside her. She reached inside the pocket of her cloak and extracted a parchment which she held out. Harry read it at once, then said, "Everything appears to be in order. What about you? Are you prepared?"

"As much as I ever can be," said the voice within the hood. "Will they . . . Will they all be there?"

Harry nodded until he remembered that he was invisible. "Word of Lucius Malfoy's interest seems to have brought all the rats out of the gutters. We should have the full contingent, unless I very much miss my guess. It'll enable us to make a clean sweep and hopefully bring them all in at once. I want to thank you again for everything you've done to help bring this about, Mrs. Malfoy."

The woman lowered her hood, revealing the white-blonde hair and careworn though still beautiful face of Narcissa Malfoy. "You are taking precautions to remain out of sight, I trust?"

"Of course," Harry said. "But what of . . . That is, are you absolutely certain he is unaware?"

"There is nothing to worry about on that score," she said quietly. "It's taken care of." She arched a brow at him. "The parchment? It is working?"

"Better than I thought it would. It's been a lifesaver. I don't know what I would have done if. . . Well, thank you."

Narcissa's shoulders lifted in an approximation of a shrug. "I still don't understand quite how it works," Harry went on. "It reminds me in some ways of. . ." He shook his head. "But that was a very Dark object. It couldn't work the same way."

"You're thinking of the diary."

Harry looked at her. "You knew about that?"

Narcissa's smile was cold. "Lucius was never what one might call discreet. He loved to boast of his schemes, especially to me. I suppose he thought it would impress me."

"And did it?" As soon as words left his mouth, he immediately wished them back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . ."

"I will admit there was a time when I was _very _impressed," said Narcissa, looking faintly amused. "But we were speaking of the parchment."

"Yes," Harry said, still embarrassed by his gaffe. "How did you come by it?"

"It was a wedding gift from my Aunt Wallburga." Perhaps sensing Harry's alarm, she hastened to assure him, "Oh, don't worry, there's no Dark Magic involved. It's actually been in the family for many years, going back as far as the Middle Ages, I believe. It's always passed from mother to daughter, but since my aunt had no daughters, she passed it to me. I'm not sure why she didn't give it to one of my sisters. Well, I know why she didn't give it to Andie, but as for Bella. . ."

Narcissa seemed to realize she was digressing and recalled herself to her subject. "As I say, there is no Dark Magic involved, but there is powerful bit of magic attached to it. Unlike the diary, however, in which a piece of the Dark Lord's soul was added, the parchment serves as a link between two already bound souls. That's why it was never any use to me. Mine was an arranged marriage. It takes more than a wedding to bind a soul."

"Were you. . . forced to marry?" Harry asked, thinking that if this were true, it would explain a lot.

Narcissa inclined her head. "That's an interesting question. I don't think 'forced' is the proper word. It never occurred to me that I had a right to object. Lucius was originally betrothed to my sister Andromeda. Did you know that?"

"No," said Harry. "I didn't."

"When she ran off to marry the Mud. . . That is, the Muggleborn, Lucius's family was very angry. They'd gone to a lot of trouble and expense to negotiate a marriage settlement, and they naturally assumed their investment was lost. My parents might have ended up in court were it not for the fact that they still had an unmarried daughter left at home." Narcissa's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "I was offered as a 'replacement.' A consolation prize, I suppose."

Harry couldn't think what to say, but apparently there was no need. Narcissa seemed to want to keep talking. He wondered how long it had been since she'd had anyone to talk to. She had lived in isolation at Malfoy Manor, a pariah in an environment in which ex-Death Eaters were often spat upon by relatives and friends of their victims. Most had fled the country, but Narcissa had remained to be close to her son.

"My parents were livid when they learned what Andromeda had done," Narcissa went on. "My sister Bellatrix was, if anything, even more furious. You would have thought Andie had personally betrayed her. Bella tended to take things personally. Everyone thought I was vain and self-absorbed, but she was the one who always assumed the world revolved around her. She could be rather a bitch at times."

Harry tried not to shudder at the casual way she talked about her deranged older sister. "And you?" he prompted, less tentative now that he could see Narcissa wanted to share these details of her past. Also, he couldn't help a certain morbid curiosity. "How did you feel about your sister's marriage?"

"Andie and I were very close when we were younger," Narcissa said slowly. "Much closer than either of us were to Bellatrix. Well, no one was _ever_ close to Bella. She was a force of nature, and it's never a good idea to stand that close to a hurricane. But Andie and I were true sisters. I admired her. I looked up to her. I . . . I loved her."

Narcissa bowed her head, almost as if she were praying. "Everyone said my sister's folly was my gain," she continued in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "Lucius had looks, wealth, the finest blood credentials. They all said Andromeda was a fool to cast aside such a match. I didn't realize then how courageous her choice really was. Not until it was too late."

There was a long silence. Harry became aware of a faint odor of incense. "I'm sorry," he said, unable to think of anything else.

"When Draco was born, I thought I had found something to love," Narcissa went on. "It was the first time I had tried to love anything since my sister went away. From the moment they first placed him in my arms, I lived for him and only for him. But I wasn't strong enough to fight Lucius's influence. He was too powerful, too commanding, and I was too weak to go against everything I'd been raised to believe."

"There are many different kinds of strength," Harry pointed out. "And many kinds of courage."

She gazed toward the front of the church where a giant crucifix dominated the altar. "Nothing in my life worked out the way I thought it would. I always bowed to those who were stronger than I. But when everything I knew crumbled around me, I had to find my own strength. It's quite a conundrum, learning how to be strong at my age."

Harry wanted to pity her, but for some reason he couldn't. He simply could not bring himself to pity a Malfoy, herself a member in good standing of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Narcissa's name had never been blasted off the family tree in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, now concealed behind a wall in his own sitting room, and not for the first time he wondered how much of this contrition was contrived. Perhaps she was trying to curry favor, either for herself or her son. Perhaps she was haunted by the terrifying specters her demented family had raised and was trying, in her own unique way, to buy them off. But there was no denying that she had risked a great deal to come forward. What was more, she was putting her own neck on the line and that, in Harry's estimation, was the greatest proof of sincerity anyone could offer.

Harry still could not quite believe that Narcissa Malfoy, of all people, had approached him. The initial contact came by owl, and he was naturally suspicious of her request to meet him at an old stone quarry in the Wiltshire countryside. It seemed an incongruous location, though had she suggested Malfoy Manor he would have refused outright, for the memory of that place still haunted his nightmares. It was curiosity more than anything that made him agree, and when he reached the quarry where generations of Muggles had dug creamy, colored stone out of the earth, he understood why she had chosen it. It was out of the way, yet protected from the elements, and not someplace they were ever likely to be spotted. Not by wizards or anyone else for that matter. Nothing that lived could possibly live here.

Narcissa waited for him on a stone bench beneath an outcropping of rock, her robes spread out about her like a queen. Harry's wand remained in his pocket, but he kept his hand wrapped firmly around it as Narcissa Malfoy's voice echoed off the thick, stone walls.

"As you know, Mr. Potter," she began without preamble, "my husband will soon be released from Azkaban."

"I am aware of it," Harry replied, waiting for her to continue.

"Lucius has never become reconciled to his losses," she said in a flat, unemotional voice. Harry noticed that she still wore a look of having smelled something unpleasant. "He refuses to believe the world has changed." She sighed. "He always was a stubborn man. But seven years in Azkaban has taken a toll. Lucius is ill, Mr. Potter. Much more ill than most people realize. He is no more capable of carrying out his grand schemes than our old house-elf."

"Why are you telling me this,?" Harry asked.

"Because our son feels a sense of obligation to his father. Especially now that he is so weak and beaten down. It hurts him to see his father this way." Narcissa paused, and her next words seemed to cause her pain. "According to my daughter-in-law, Draco has become quite restless of late. It has inspired him to reconnect with a few, shall we say, old companions."

"Your son is on probation, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry reminded her. "He'd better curb his restlessness and watch the company he keeps if he doesn't want to take his father's place in Azkaban."

"That is why I am here, Mr. Potter," said Narcissa. "I wish to help you."

Harry stared at her, noting the proud set of her shoulders, the fair hair and pale skin that bore so little resemblance to either of her sisters. Only the haughty look was common to all three, and the gray eyes that seemed to dominate among the Blacks. Sirius had those eyes. Andromeda also had them. So did Teddy, for that matter. Teddy had inherited his heart-shaped face and metamorphmagus ability from Tonks, his nose, mouth, and thoughtful expression from Remus. But his eyes were like his grandmother's: a cool, cloudy gray, like a slightly overcast morning.

"Why?" Harry demanded. "Why would you want to help me?"

"Because it will help my son. I know the people you've been hunting, Mr. Potter. They are the ones who have been talking to Draco. At his father's instigation, of course. Lucius knows that he is finished. He knows that he can never be powerful again, so now he is trying to live through our son. But I won't let that happen. I am willing to do whatever I must to prevent Draco from throwing his life away on any more of his father's delusions of grandeur."

"Why should I trust you?" Harry asked.

She regarded him thoughtfully. "I understand your wife is expecting a baby."

Harry blinked. "Yes, she is. Our second."

"My son's wife is also expecting a child," Narcissa said. "It's their first."

"I . . . I didn't know," Harry said, wondering whether congratulations were in order. Somehow it didn't seem appropriate.

"It's a boy. They found out a few days ago. My daughter-in-law, Astoria, tells me he is to be called Scorpius."

"I see," said Harry, though he really didn't.

"I am determined for my grandson to grow up differently than his father did," Narcissa went on. "I failed my son, Mr. Potter. I failed him in so many ways, but I will not make that mistake a second time. I will not fail my grandson. So believe me when I tell you that I am prepared to do whatever needs to be done."

Despite the vehemence of her claims, Harry was doubtful that Narcissa Malfoy either would or could do anything against the very class with which she had always aligned herself. She remained haughty and cold, and tended to look down on those she felt were beneath her, which seemed to include everyone Harry considered worthy. But she managed to surprise him, and if the plan failed he knew that she had even more to lose than he did. He still wasn't sure he completely trustsed her, but he hadn't forgotten that she had betrayed Voldemort to save her son, and his own life had been spared in the process. Of course Harry had paid that back many times over, but he had developed a grudging respect for Narcissa Malfoy. He didn't like her, and he couldn't pity her, but he did feel a bit of respect for her.

Harry was so lost in his own musings that it took him awhile to realize that it had been several minutes since either of them had spoken. Narcissa was staring at the crucifix again, and there was a curious gleam in her cold, gray eyes.

"How does one ever begin to understand Muggles?" she said. "That man up there, hanging on a Roman gallows. They worship him, don't they?"

"Not all of them," said Harry. "But a great many do."

"He couldn't have been very powerful. I mean, just look at him." She shook her head. "Muggles are strange. They create such weak, pathetic gods. No wonder they're such weak, pathetic creatures."

"I don't pretend to be an expert on Muggle religion," said Harry. "But I think it has something to do with forgiveness."

Narcissa stared, clearly at a loss, then she pulled up her hood, casting her face once more into shadow. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled, even though he knew Narcissa could not see him. "Yes, you will, Mrs. Malfoy. And I'll make sure you get the parchment back after. . . Well, after."

"No need. As I said, it's no use to me." Narcissa stood up and almost reluctantly added, "Your wife is fortunate. I hope she knows that."

"_I'm _the one who's fortunate," Harry replied. "And I definitely know it."

"Yes," said Narcissa. "I think you both are.

He watched her walk to the door at a stately, unhurried pace. But before she went out into the sunshine, she turned to the seemingly empty church and said, "I know what you did for Draco. I know it was your testimony that kept us out of Azkaban. I want you to know that you can trust me. I will not fail you."

"No," said Harry. "I don't believe you will."

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_**A/N: **__Chapter updates are likely going to continue at a slower pace for awhile as I tie up all these loose ends and attempt to make everything hang together. These are some very deep subjects I'm dealing with and require careful consideration and handling. I also wanted to point out that the idea of wizard interference in Muggle world affairs is not my idea. J.K. Rowling has given interviews in which she suggested that Grindelwald's rise to power and the rise of the Nazi Party was not coincidental, just as Grindelwald's defeat by Dumbledore in 1945 was intentionally the same year as Hitler's downfall. The way I figure it, if evil wizards can impact world events once, they can do it again (I can think of quite a few politicians who would probably love to blame their performance on Dark Magic!). "Dobro jutro," by the way, means "Good morning." _

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**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know. 

**Amy:** Your concern about the Malfoys may have quieted a bit with this chapter, but then again, maybe not. The note is important. You'll see more about it later on.

**PadfootProngs7:** Ginny's tough. I think she can handle all those Weasleys. After all, she's had plenty of practice!

**Sunlitdayz14:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Unfortunately, as my A/N explained, chapter updates will come more slowly as I start winding things up, but of course I will do the best I can.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT:** Harry is doing his best to get home as soon as he can, but as you can see from this chapter, the stakes are pretty high. It _is_ hard on Ginny, though. The whole 'Noble Gits United Wives Auxiliary' thing is a bit taxing at times.

**Klara: **Where in Sweden are you from? My ex-husband's family was from a place called Katrinaholm. My son would like to visit there someday. Thanks for your review. Your English is fine!

**Jacqueline:** Glad you liked "my" Sirius.

**CBGB:** Hey, if I didn't have somebody arguing with me about every single detail of my stories, I wouldn't know what to do with myself, so argue away! Glad you like the story.

**Jack:** You learned a little more about Andromeda's "story" in this chapter, and will learn even more later. Glad you liked Teddy & Victoire. They're fun to write at any age.

**tejana:** You may grow very old waiting for Ginny to listen to her mother. She doesn't strike me as the type.

**Celestina:** Yes, Mugglenet seems to be down for the count, doesn't it? I can't believe how long their technical difficulties have persisted. Ah, well, thank God for FFN. Thanks for your comments.


	20. Chapter 20: HouseElves and Hormones

_**A/N:**__ Back to Ginny's POV in this chapter, but I'll be returning to the Balkans eventually, as neither Harry nor I seem able to get out of there. _

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**Chapter Nineteen**

_House-Elves and Hormones_

Ginny crossed out another sentence in her manuscript while trying to ignore a heated argument between Winky and Kreacher, conducted entirely in hisses. It was taking place in the kitchen one floor below, but as the hissing rose in volume, it sounded as though a boiler was about to explode. A few words broke through, such as "old" and "forgetful" which were immediately countered by "clothes" and "disgrace," but Ginny had been coping with interruptions all day and was determined to get through at least one paragraph regardless of what the elves did to one another.

Ginny examined the sentence she had just written: _The Order was recalled in 1995, literally within hours of Voldemort's return, again under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore._ She was just about to add to that thought when a clunk was followed by a squeal, followed by even more vigorous hissing. Sighing in resignation, she flung down her quill and had just started down the stairs when the whoosh of the kitchen fireplace sounded and Ron's voice shouted, "Knock it off!"

Ginny opened the door to find Ron holding the two elves at arm's length, which for him was a considerable distance. They continued to flail about, however, and managed to kick Ron in the shins a few times in their efforts to punish one another. Winky, Ginny noted, had a saucepan in one hand and there was a steady drip of blood from her squashed-tomato nose. Kreacher sported a rapidly growing lump on his bald pate and was brandishing a ladle, which he waved wildly with one arm while Ron kept a determined grip on the other.

"Not fit to serve in my master's house," Kreacher croaked. "Drinking butterbeer on the sly. . ."

"Winky is not a thief!" the little elf squealed in protest. "Kreacher is too old to remember where he is putting things! Winky _isn't _stealing butterbeer, and Kreacher is bad to accuse her!"

"Hello, Ron," Ginny shouted over the din. "Would you like some tea? Or perhaps you'd prefer something stronger."

"Ow!" yelled Ron as Kreacher caught him a good one with the ladle in his determination to reach Winky. "Watch where you're swinging that thing, you little bugger!"

"Tea?" Ginny asked again, as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

Ron looked up in confusion. "Er. . tea is fine."

"Good," Ginny said. "Bring it up to the sitting room, Kreacher, please. And Winky, I just put James down for the night, but he was a bit restless this evening. Would you mind checking on him? You might want to release them, Ron, so they can get on with it."

Ron let go of the elves who immediately bustled off to perform their assigned tasks, though not without a few more nasty looks in passing. As Ginny led the way to the sitting room, Ron asked, "What the hell was _that_ all about?"

"Who knows?" Ginny said.

"You're not worried about Winky. . . er, what Kreacher said?"

"Not at all," said Ginny. "She promised to stop drinking when she came to live here and she's never given us any reason to suspect otherwise, though Kreacher tends to dredge it up whenever they have a dispute. I try not to get in the middle of it. They usually manage to work it out without too much bloodshed, and when things turn violent I just give each of them a job to do. Seems to distract them so they forget whatever it was they were fighting about. Until next time, that is."

"I'll have to remember that," said Ron, rubbing his arm where Kreacher had hit him with the ladle. "Ours are always squabbling about something. Hermione's all for reasoning with them, but it never seems to do any good. Bloody things are a lot more trouble than they're worth, if you ask me."

Ginny smiled. "Better not let Hermione hear you say that."

"I won't," Ron vowed. "She's tetchy enough as it is these days."

They had reached the sitting room. Ginny moved to her favorite chair near the fireplace with a hand on the small of her back, which had been aching more than usual of late.

"Any news about Harry?" Ron asked, slouching on the settee across from her.

"Not yet," said Ginny, conscious of the note in her pocket which had informed her just that morning that Harry would likely be home in a matter of days. "I've been getting regular reports from Kingsley, though, and he seems hopeful they'll have a break in the case soon. He seemed quite optimistic the last time I spoke with him."

"Oh," Ron said. "Well, that's good. Isn't it?"

Ginny was spared the necessity of answering by Kreacher's appearance with a tea tray. While Ginny poured for both of them, she asked, "So tonight must be your turn. Why isn't Hermione with you?"

"She's studying," Ron said, accepting the cup his sister offered. "I thought she could use a little extra quiet time, so I. . . what do you mean, my turn?"

Ginny began to tick off on her fingers. "Mum is here every morning. Dad comes by at noon or after work. And every evening, one of you drops by to check up on me. George was here yesterday, so obviously tonight it's your turn. You must be taking it in chronological order. That seems to be the pattern anyway."

"That's not true," Ron said defensively. "We're not checking up on you."

"Oh, please! You couldn't be more obvious if you published a schedule. I'm not stupid, you know."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe we all just want to spend more time with our favorite sister. Has that ever occurred to you?"

"No," said Ginny. "I think it far more likely that you believe fragile, helpless little Ginny can't possibly cope on her own, so the big, tough brothers have to rally round to make sure she doesn't fall apart."

"If there's one thing none of us has ever thought about you, it's that you're either fragile or helpless," Ron said. "But no one likes to think of you sitting here all alone, pining away over Harry."

"First of all, I never pine," said Ginny. "Second, I've been trying to stay busy so that I don't dwell on it, which hasn't been easy with you lot popping in at all hours. And today I had double shifts because Andromeda and Teddy dropped by as well. In case none of you has noticed, I'm not nine years old."

"We know that," Ron said. "We're concerned, all right? Is that such a terrible thing?"

Ginny felt a twinge of guilt. All this solicitude was harder on her conscience than her nerves, especially in light of what she knew and wasn't saying. Well, _couldn't_ say, but hopefully it would be over soon and they could all have a good laugh about it.

"It isn't that I don't appreciate it," said Ginny, deliberately adding more milk to her tea so as to avoid looking at her brother. "It's just. . . Well, I'm fine, Ron. And in all fairness, I really think I'm handling everything fairly well."

"You are, actually," Ron said. "In fact, I've been surprised by the way you. . . Unless of course. . ."

"Unless of course what?"

"Hermione has a theory. She thinks you know more than you're letting on."

Ginny laughed nervously. "Hermione has a theory about everything, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, she does. I don't suppose there's anything to this one? You really don't seem all that worried. Is there a reason?"

Ginny refused to meet his eyes. She had been avoiding Hermione lately, who was much too perceptive and had been asking far too many questions. However, she appeared to have prepped Ron to ask them in her stead. "I _am_ worried, of course I am, but it's just. . . It seems that. . . I really think Harry will turn up soon."

"Why? What makes you think so?"

"Harry and I have a very strong. . . connection, I guess you could call it. It's kind of a mental thing."

"What is it, like Legilimency?" Ron said. "Or are you trying to tell me you're both mental?"

Ginny smiled. "Maybe a little of both. Haven't you ever felt anything like that with Hermione?"

Ron sighed. "I'm the bloke with the emotional range of a teaspoon, remember? And lately I haven't a clue what Hermione is trying to tell me, even when she communicates the normal way."

"Have you two had another row?" asked Ginny, seizing on the opportunity to change the subject. "Is that why you came over alone tonight?"

"She really did have to study," Ron said. "But yes, we did have a bit of a tiff earlier."

"Oh, fun!" said Ginny, grinning. "What did you do this time?"

Ron looked offended. "Why does everyone always assume it's my fault?"

"Because it usually is. What did you do?"

"Nothing! It's like I said, she's been tetchy."

"What happened?"

Ron glared at his sister. "She thinks her bum has gotten bigger since she's been pregnant. She asked me if I thought so too."

"And what did you say?"

"I told her I thought it had. A bit."

"For Merlin's sake, Ron!" Ginny said incredulously. "How thick are you anyway?"

"Well, I don't know what the hell to say to her anymore!" Ron exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration. "The other day she asked me if I liked a new set of maternity robes she'd brought home from Diagon Alley. Frankly, I thought it looked like a circus tent, but I told her it looked nice and she snapped my head off for being insincere. She claims she can tell when I'm lying because my ears turn red. So this time I decided to try honesty, and obviously _that_ worked a treat."

"It's the pregnancy hormones," Ginny tried to explain. "She can't help it."

"According to Hermione, she's in control of her hormones."

"Yes, I know," Ginny said dryly. "Denial's not just a river in Egypt, is it?"

Ron ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "I don't even know who she _is_ anymore! She was always so brainy and sensible. She never used to act the way most women do."

Ginny arched a brow. "And what way is that?'"

"Oh, you know," said Ron. "Just generally insane. I'll be so glad when this is all over. Just two more months, thank Merlin, and then life can get back to normal."

Ginny laughed out loud. "If you call having sore nipples, being sleep deprived, and covered in baby sick normal, then why not? Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, oh brother of misbegotten youth, but life is never going to be what you call 'normal' again. Once the baby is born, that's when the fun really begins."

Ron chewed his nails which, Ginny observed, had been bitten down to the quick. "I'm going to be a horrible father, aren't I?"

"Of course not," said Ginny. "Why would you think so?"

"Because it's _me_! What do I know about babies? What do I know about _anything_? I don't think I'm ready to be a father, Ginny. I thought I was, but now I'm not so sure."

"Where did all this come from?"

"I don't know," Ron said. "It's been coming on for awhile. I can't talk to Hermione about it, not the way she is now. If Harry were here, I'd talk to him, but he isn't, and if I don't talk to somebody I'll burst. I'm going to make a right pig's ear out of this whole fatherhood business, Ginny, I just know it."

Ginny recognized the symptoms Ron was displaying. Harry had gone through the same thing before James was born, though in his case it had more to do with never having had an example of what a father was supposed to be. He'd read dozens of books leading up to James's birth, and had even memorized a few nursery rhymes for emergencies, but when the time came he found himself well equal to the task. What was more, he soon realized that he need look no further for an appropriate role model than his own father-in-law, who had been immensely helpful in bolstering Harry's confidence.

"Listen, Ron, we had a wonderful father," Ginny reminded him. "All you have to do is follow his example and you'll do just fine. There's nothing to worry about."

"I can't help it," said Ron. "The closer it gets, the more I worry. I feel like I did before I played my first Quidditch match. What if I pass out during the delivery? What if they hand me the baby and I drop it on its head or something?"

"Ron," Ginny cautioned, "don't you think you're getting a little carried away?"

"Ginny, this is _me_ we're talking about," Ron said. "If there's a way to mess things up, I'm sure to find it. What if the kid hates me? That happens sometimes, you know. No matter what you say or do, some kids hate their parents. And knowing me, I'm likely to say or do something incredibly stupid. What if – and I can hardly bear to think about this – what if it grows up to be like Percy?"

"Oh, come on," Ginny said. "Percy's not _that_ bad."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "I always figured it must be a genetic quirk. What if my kid inherits it? What if he or she turns out to be the same kind of stuck-up swot?"

"That isn't going to happen," Ginny assured him.

"How do you know?" said Ron. "It's obviously an inherited trait. Have you seen little Prewett lately? That kid's got 'prefect' written all over him."

"You were a prefect," Ginny reminded him.

"That was probably a quirk, too. It should have been Harry. It probably would have been if he hadn't had a bulls-eye on his forehead."

Ginny stared at him. Men really were the most insecure, ridiculous creatures! "Why don't you talk to Dad?" she suggested. "He's given Harry some wonderful advice, and Merlin knows he's had plenty of experience."

"Maybe I will," said Ron, chewing his nails again. "But his experience was with boys. Hermione thinks our baby is a girl."

"I was a girl," Ginny pointed out. "Still am, come to think of it."

"You acted like a boy, though. You never seemed to like dolls or other girly things."

"That's because I had all those brothers," Ginny asked. "You were the only ones I had to play with, living out in the country the way we did, and I never could convince you to play with dolls."

"Well, you fought like a boy," said Ron. "And you didn't fight fair either. Whenever I'd fight back, you'd run shrieking to Mum, and then I'd get in trouble for hitting my little sister."

Ginny shrugged. "You were bigger than me. I had to use cunning."

"Cunning, my arse! You fought dirty, plain and simple. You were as bad as the twins for making my life miserable."

Ginny rubbed two fingers together. "Do you hear that, Ron? It's the smallest violin in the world, playing just for you."

"Oh, shut up," said Ron. "At least I got along okay with Bill and Charlie, though they were away at school most of the time. I was barely nine when Bill left home for good. I mostly remember him coming round for visits, usually with some gorgeous bird on his arm."

"You _would_ remember that," said Ginny. "I remember Bill carrying me on his shoulders when I was little. And Charlie took me for rides on his broomstick."

"I remember that too," Ron said. "You fell off one time and broke your arm. As soon as Mum got you sorted out, she chased Charlie round the paddock, whacking him with his broom."

"That must be why he stopped taking me out," said Ginny. "I used to beg him to, but he wouldn't do it."

"Neither would you if Mum broke a broomstick across your backside," Ron said. "Of course Percy _never_ got whacked with a broom because _he_ never broke any rules."

"He was nice to me," said Ginny. "Especially during that horrible first year I was at Hogwarts, even though he made me take Pepperup Potion because I was so pale. Of course he might not have been so nice had he known I was the one opening the Chamber of Secrets."

"Probably would have put you in detention," Ron said. "Consorting with basilisks had to be against school rules."

"It wasn't my fault," Ginny said. "I was being possessed by Riddle's diary, after all."

"Think that would have mattered to Percy?" said Ron. "When it came to breaking rules, his was not to question why. You know, I still haven't forgotten that stupid letter he wrote during my fifth year."

"What letter?" asked Ginny.

"He wrote to congratulate me for being made a prefect, and urged me to drop Harry as a friend so as not to be 'tainted' by association."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "Did he really?"

"He really did," said Ron. "It was during that year when everyone thought Harry was a nutter for saying You Know Who was back. What Percy wrote really hurt Harry, too. He didn't say anything, but I could tell. Anyway, I burnt the damned thing, but I've never forgotten it."

"Well, that was years ago," said Ginny. "He's changed, Ron, and he's worked so hard to restore our trust. Look at the way he was with George after Fred died."

Ron shrugged in acknowledgement. Percy's guilt over rejecting his family in favor of the Ministry had inspired him to watch over George like a slightly pompous guard dog after Fred's death. He'd dragged his brother out of numerous pubs in the middle of the night and learned more about hangover remedies than anyone else in the family. No matter where George wandered off to, they could always depend upon Percy to track him down and bring him home.

"Did Percy ever know about Daphne Greengrass?" Ginny asked, thinking about all the pub crawling George had done in those days, which was how he had met Daphne.

Ron blinked at the unexpected question. "How did you. . ."

"Harry told me," Ginny said. "I sort of bamboozled it out of him. But I wondered. . ." She broke off with a grimace of pain as a spasm rippled through her.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, sitting up straight and going a bit pasty.

"It's nothing," Ginny said. "My back's been hurting all afternoon. Must have strained it or something."

Ron frowned. "Why do you want to know about Daphne?"

"I ran into somebody recently that. . . Well, I just wondered if it was serious."

"I don't know how serious it was," said Ron. "George felt sorry for her, I think. Actually, they were both in a lot of pain and it struck some sort of chord, I suppose, though he was surprisingly cut up about it when he found out that she had. . .Well, you know."

"Yes," Ginny said. "I heard about that."

"I mean, he didn't have anything to do with it," Ron continued. "They had stopped seeing each other. George had already started going out with Katie by then, but I guess it's always a shock to hear news like that. He talked a bit about her after it happened. Apparently she had quite a difficult background. Half her family supported the Death Eaters, but the other half suffered because of them. One of her uncles was even killed by You Know Who himself. It was during the years he was in hiding in Albania. Daphne's mother's family came from someplace near there, I think."

"Albania," Ginny said reflectively. "That's in the Balkans, isn't it?"

"I think so," Ron said. "Why? Do you think it has something to do with where Harry is?"

"Possibly," said Ginny who knew, thanks to her research, that Voldemort had traveled widely throughout the Balkans during his years in exile. "You don't happen to know which country her mother's family was from, do you?"

"I think it may have been Serbia. Or maybe Bosnia. I can't really remember. All of those countries sort of run together for me."

Ginny shook her head. It didn't ring any bells, but she couldn't help wondering if it was significant. It seemed like too much of a coincidence not to be. "Why didn't Harry tell me any of this?" she asked.

"Probably because he didn't know about it," said Ron. "We both thought it was just a casual fling at first. George didn't seem to want to talk about it. I mean, she was a Slytherin and half her family were on the wrong side during the war. It must have been hard for him to reconcile all those feelings after Fred. . . But after she killed herself, it all came tumbling out. It happened during those few months when Harry and I. . . Well, we weren't talking then, and I just never thought to mention it afterward."

Ginny thought back to the time shortly after she and Harry became engaged when Ron, who had been doing double duty at the joke shop and with the Auror Department, decided to leave the Ministry. Harry had been furious, as much because Ron had not talked to him first as for the decision itself, though Ron had not done so because he knew that Harry would try to talk him out of it. For Harry it felt like a betrayal, and harsh words passed between the two old friends with the result that they did not speak to one another for several months. It made for an awkward situation within the family, especially with Harry and Ginny's wedding looming. Harry had actually been on the verge on choosing another best man when Hermione and Ginny intervened and managed to convince him that, first of all, he was acting like a prat, and second, Ron's decision was perfectly justified. As an Auror, Ron was continually overshadowed by Harry, whereas working with George enabled him to develop his talents in an area where he could really shine. It was essential to his self-esteem, Ginny and Hermione pointed out, to create his own sphere of influence, and Harry finally realized that it was also essential to their friendship. They'd made up their quarrel and nothing more had been said about it, but since Harry's disappearance lingering doubts about that decision appeared to have been plaguing Ron.

"I really miss him," said Ron.

"I know," Ginny said quietly. "So do I."

"If I hadn't left the Ministry," said Ron, "maybe he wouldn't have. . ."

"Don't second-guess yourself," Ginny pleaded. "It was a good decision, Ron, and it worked out for the best. Besides, it's like I told you, I honestly believe Harry is all right. I really think he'll be home soon."

"But you don't know that, Ginny. You're only guessing."

Ginny regarded him. "This is really eating away at you, isn't it?"

"He's my brother," Ron said simply. "You made it official when you married him, but he was my brother long before that." He ruffled up his hair again. "I don't know how you're coping with all this. I know it must be so much worse for you and I. . . I just wish we'd hear something."

Ginny released a long sigh. If it _was_ only a few more days, would it be so terrible? "Ron, will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Where are you going?"

"I want to check on James," Ginny said. "I'll be right back."

Ginny heaved herself to her feet, one hand still on her aching back, and went, not toward the stairs, but to the study. Pulling the parchment from her pocket, she unfolded it and stared at the number 7, wondering what to ask. Harry's safety was paramount to her. Although she didn't understand the reason for all the secrecy, she hadn't been willing to take a risk before now. But Ron was someone Harry had trusted with his life many times, and if it gave him a little peace of mind. . .

Ginny reached for a quill and scratched out a question below the number 7: _Ron worried Okay tell him truth confidentially_

Her message disappeared, but no new words came to take their place. Ginny waited for what felt like hours, her backache growing worse by the minute. The messages had not always come instantaneously. Sometimes she'd had to wait for extended periods for a response, but now Ginny worried that Ron would come looking for her and that would lead to far too many questions.

She was just considering trying another way of asking when a savage pain tore through her, doubling her over in agony. Ginny clung to the desk, gasping at the sudden onslaught. This was no simple backache, she realized. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

Clutching at her stomach, where the pain seemed to be concentrated, Ginny stumbled to the door. It felt like her insides were on fire. "Ron!" she called, unable to take another step, yet shocked at how weak her voice sounded. "Ron, come quick!"

It seemed to take forever, but was probably only seconds before her brother loomed over where she knelt on the floor. "Ginny?" he said, looking pale and frightened as he knelt beside her "What happened? What's wrong?"

"I. . . sick. . . need. . ."

Ron crouched over her, supporting her with one hand while with the other he yanked something out of his pocket. Through a haze of pain she saw a silver terrier erupt from the end of his wand. Or was it two terriers? However many there were, they yapped madly and dashed away in several different directions before fading entirely from view.

She could hear Ron's voice shouting, "Ginny? Ginny!" Then her mother appeared, which was funny. What would Mum be doing there? She usually turned up in the mornings. Hermione was there too, and that was even funnier because she was supposed to be home studying. The house seemed suddenly filled with people. Somebody held a cup to her lips and Ginny tasted a bitter potion before she was floating, floating away to some wonderful place free from pain. She became aware of something clutched in her hand. It was the parchment. Ginny opened her eyes to see words appear where before it had been stubbornly blank: _Okay tell Ron Hermione confidence No others_

Then Ginny's eyes rolled back in her head and everything went resolutely black.

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers**: This includes all those for whom I do not have email addresses. All others receive personal responses, as do all signed reviews. If I've missed anyone, anonymous or otherwise, let me know.

**Amy:** The idea of Harry and Ginny planting a tree for Albus is a good one. Harry's ability to "see" Ginny's dreams is indeed significant. Keep it in mind as the story goes forward.

**PadfootProngs7:** I doubt I'll be able to keep the story going until Lily and Hugo are born, but I plan to mention them in the Epilogue which I intend to include with this story. Harry and Ginny will be talking very soon, I promise.

**Celestina:** Narcissa is a fascinating character. She's intrigued me since _Deathly Hallows_, and I've wanted to explore her character in more depth ever since. The power of Motherly Love was such a huge theme throughout the series, a power that Voldemort clearly never understood, but to which Harry owed his life several times over. I'm so glad you can see and understand Harry's motivation. I agree that Ginny loves him for his nobility, even as it frustrates her sometimes. Thanks for your comments about _The Letter_, by the way. It was such a lot of fun to write, unlike this one, which has been a pretty long, hard slog. I'm enjoying the challenge, though.


	21. Chapter 21: The Meeting

_**A/N:**__ At the risk of being annoyingly self-effacing, I struggled horribly with this one and I fear it may be obvious just how much. However, in the interest of moving things along, I decided to go with it, warts and all, before you forget what the story is about. At any rate, I'll let you be the judge. Back to the Balkans in this chapter, but we'll return to Ginny in the next._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

_The Meeting_

On the outskirts of Prizren, on a high cliff overlooking the valley, were the ruins of an old hunting lodge, built in the days of the great Ottoman Empire. In recent years it had been a home for monks who preferred the quiet isolation of hilltops for prayer and meditation, but rioting during the late hostilities had caused irreparable damage and economic hardship had left it in disrepair. It was, however, a perfect meeting place for a handful of ragtag witches and wizards, who were used to meeting in much less hospitable environments.

Inside the crumbling walls the participants exchanged pleasantries in what had been a ballroom, later turned into a chapel, but now merely a cavernous space with chipped marble floors and peeling wallpaper with tarnished gold trim. Everyone seemed keyed up, but one was decidedly more nervous than the others, and kept glancing at the arched entryway, watching for something that didn't appear to be happening the way he apparently thought it should.

"He is late," Dolohov said to his partner, Petroff. "He has changed his mind. After all our planning. . ."

"He'll be here, Andrei," said Dragovic, who had overheard Dolohov's comment. "Trust me. He gave his word, and Lucius Malfoy's word is his bond."

Dolohov bit his lip. "If he doesn't come soon, Dragovic. . ."

"I spoke with him only yesterday," Dragovic said. "Relax, my friend. He'll be here, I assure you."

"Perhaps we should start without him, Andrei," said Petroff, looking around at the others. "They are growing restless. If something doesn't happen soon. . . Oh, there you are, Rookwood!"

A stooped wizard with a pockmarked face entered the ballroom, dabbing at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Sorry to be late," he said in a cringing sort of voice. "There were last minute complications. But good news! I saw Lucius Malfoy Apparate as I was coming up the hill."

"Did you?" said Petroff in obvious relief. "He's here then?"

Dolohov began to flap his arms in agitation. "Places, please, everyone! Our guest of honor is on his way."

The small group of witches and wizards scurried to find seats at a table that had been set up in a corner of the room. After a bit of jostling for position, they all stood behind their respective chairs, poised and waiting. Minutes later, two men appeared in the archway. One was dark and swarthy, but the other had white-blonde hair, a pale, pointed face, and carried himself with an air of pride and authority, despite his careworn appearance.

Rookwood rushed forward to greet the blonde man, holding out his hand in welcome. "Lucius, my old friend!" he cried. "How wonderful to see you looking so well!"

"A few weeks in Marseille have done wonders, Rookwood," said Lucius Malfoy. "You will, of course, remember my financial advisor, Malfius Swingle."

"I do indeed," said Rookwood. "How are you, Mr. Swingle?" The dark-haired man gave Rookwood a cursory nod. He looked ill at ease, his black eyes scanning the crowd as though taking inventory.

Dolohov, who had hurried along behind Rookwood, scowled at the man with Lucius Malfoy. "This is most irregular, Lucius," he said. "You were to come alone."

Lucius arched a brow at him. "Malfius handles all my financial affairs. I wouldn't invest so much as a knut without his counsel. Besides, Rookwood knows him. Don't you, Augustus?"

"I do indeed," Rookwood said. "Mr. Swingle was an ardent supporter of the Dark Lord. I would know him anywhere."

"I don't know, Andrei," said Petroff. "How do we know this man is trustworthy?"

"I can vouch for him," Dragovic said. "I, too, know Mr. Swingle."

"The word of a smuggler is not worth much," Petroff scoffed.

A fleeting shadow crossed Dragovic's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "You have never heard the expression, 'honor among thieves?' I swear to you, Nicolai, Mr. Swingle can be trusted. I would stake my life on it."

Petroff looked uneasy, but after a brief hesitation, Dolohov nodded a reluctant approval. The two men were ushered to seats at the table. Lucius was accorded the seat of honor at one end, and everyone shifted aside to make room for Swingle, who reached into a pocket for parchment and a quill.

"No notes," Petroff said. "We don't allow note taking at any of our meetings."

"I forgot to mention it," Dolohov added apologetically. "We're all agreed there should be nothing in writing to tie any of us to this group."

Swingle scowled and looked at Lucius,then grudgingly tucked his quill and parchment back inside his robes.

"Well, gentlemen," said Lucius. With a nod at the two witches at the table he added, "And ladies of course. Explain to me why I should invest in your enterprise."

Dolohov stood and swept an arm about the room. "Every one of the individuals you see before you, Lucius, was handpicked by the Dark Lord to carry out a plan he first conceived during his years in exile. He chose each of us for individual talents which we combined for his consideration. We were, in fact, a kind of brain trust that he put together many years ago, and we've continued meeting in secret since his tragic demise. In order to avoid attracting attention we've also maintained our base of operations in the Balkans, a region already torn by war and long accustomed to strife and division. And of course, as you know, we have continued to pursue the Dark Lord's noble goal of creating ethnic and religious division among Muggles, not just in the Balkans, but many other parts of the world, which he believed essential to achieving his ultimate objective."

"That objective being to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy and achieve wizard dominance over Muggles," said Malfoy in a bored voice. "Yes, Dolohov, I already know all that. But what makes you think you can succeed where wizards such as Grindelwald and even the Dark Lord himself failed?"

"Because we have taken the Dark Lord's plan a step beyond what even he dreamed," Dolohov said. "His overall vision was brilliant, but slow to reach fruition. And by focusing all our efforts on inciting violence in various parts of the world, we have found that we attract too much notice from wizarding authorities such as Harry Potter."

"Speaking of which," said Petroff, "Potter hasn't been seen or heard from in weeks. You've implied that you had something to do with that, Mr. Malfoy, but I think we'd all like to know if it's true. In fact, before anything else is said here today, I'd like your personal assurance that Potter is no longer a threat to us or our plans."

"I told you he'd been taken care of, didn't I?" Malfoy replied.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but I'm afraid that isn't good enough," said Petroff. "What's become of Potter? Have you captured him? Is he dead?"

"I'm afraid that's a rather, er, sensitive issue," Malfoy said with a small, secretive smile. "You understand, I am sure."

"It must be true, Nicolai," Dolohov said. "We have Archibald Hines under the Imperius Curse. We'd know if it was a trick."

"There you have it, Petroff," said Malfoy, as Rookwood shifted in his chair. "Even the Head Auror doesn't know where Potter is. What more do you need?"

Petroff, however, still seemed reluctant. "Dragovic tells us your word is your bond, Mr. Malfoy. Will you give us your word? As a wizard and a gentleman?"

Malfoy's smile broadened. "Very well, Petroff. As a wizard _and _a gentleman, you have my word that Harry Potter is no threat."

"Well, Nicolai," said Dolohov in relief. "You can't ask for more than that, can you?"

"You were telling me of your plans, gentlemen," Malfoy said. "Before we were . . . sidetracked."

"Yes," said Dolohov. "Nicolai, you had better take it from here. This is your area of expertise."

Dolohov sat down as Petroff stood up. "For centuries the natural aversion of wizard to Muggle has kept us at an understandable distance," Petroff said, in the dry, unemotional tones of a mathematics instructor. "But the rules of warfare tell us that it is necessary to know an enemy in order to defeat him. The Dark Lord understood this, which was why he charged us with the task of studying Muggles at close quarters in order to to identify their weaknesses and vulnerabilities.Our observations, compiled separately but combined over several years of productive compilation and discussion, have led each of us to the inescapable conclusion that Muggles are every bit as lazy, ignorant, greedy, envious, self-indulgent, and unimaginative as wizards have always assumed. They spread disease, discord, and carnage. They are destroying the earth with their power plants and automobiles, their trinkets and their toys, their wars and their petty squabbles. If left unchecked, they will make this planet uninhabitable. In short, Muggles are dangerous, both to themselves and to wizardkind."

"What do you propose we do about it?" said Malfoy. "Kill them all?"

"Their sheer numbers make that an unattainable goal," Petroff replied in all seriousness. "But they can and should be controlled, and the way to do that is through something they call 'technology.' In the past few decades, Muggles have become wholly dependent on mechanized systems called computers. In the presence of too much magic, these systems do not work at all, but it is almost childishly simple to interfere with them. We have been working on something the Muggles call 'viruses' which, when introduced into their computer systems, create unbelievable chaos that affects their politics, economics, communications, even their identities. So far they've been able to counteract all the viruses we've introduced, but we're on the verge of creating something they won't be able to cope with. It will bring about the largest systems failure yet known and, if done correctly, will bring the Muggle world to a virtual halt."

Silence pervaded the large room. The sound of water dripping along the eaves could be heard. Malfoy glanced at Rookwood, who was staring at Petroff. Apparently it was the first he had heard of any of this, but he'd only been out of Azkaban a short while himself. Swingle had yet to speak, but his gaze was fixed on Petroff, as though in serious contemplation.

"It will require the most meticulous planning," Petroff continued. "Everything must be set up in advance so that we are poised to step in with magical solutions to the inevitable crisis, thereby enabling us to seize power."

"In the meantime, of course," Dolohov said when Petroff paused for breath, "we will continue to influence Muggle decision makers throughout the world and create disruptions that will make common Muggles long for the kind of answers only we can provide. But that kind of detailed organization requires gold, and there, Lucius, is where you come in. Naturally we don't expect you to provide all the funding for this project, but with all your contacts, you undoubtedly know other pureblood wizards who might be interested in investing in a worthy enterprise for the good of the wizarding race."

Malfoy looked thoughtful. "You have considered possible obstacles, I presume?"

"Of course we have," Dolohov said. "But the only Ministry that's shown the slightest interest in our activities is Croatia, and they're too small and underfunded to pose any real threat. Nobody else believes Kingsley Shacklebolt's wild-eyed claims, and with Potter gone, he'll hesitate to send anyone else out this way. As it is, he'll have a lot of explaining to do for losing the so-called 'hero' of the wizarding world."

All the wizards laughed, and so did one of the witches, but the other, a pallid looking woman with a long nose and wide-set eyes, said in a surprisingly deep voice, "There is one other potential obstacle. The legend."

Everyone stopped laughing at once. "We agreed not to mention that, Lucretia," said Petroff.

"_You_ agreed, Nicolai," said the witch. "I actually disagreed, if you'll recall. I think we owe it to Mr. Malfoy to present an accurate picture. It is a question of trust, after all."

"I appreciate your honesty," Malfoy said. "And I'd like to hear about this legend, Madam. . .?"

"Avenir," said the witch, returning Malfoy's polite bow. "Lucretia Avenir."

"Go on, please, Madam Avenir," said Malfoy.

The witch reached for a long roll of parchment on the table in front of her. Unrolling it, she revealed an intricate star chart which she held up for all to see, though the glyphs and symbols made no sense to anyone else if the blank looks on every other face were any indication.

"I first discovered this anomaly many years ago," said Madam Avenir in her resonant voice. "It corresponds with an ancient legend that has been told and retold within magical communities in Asia, the Middle East, and parts of eastern Europe. You may have heard of it. It is the legend of the Chosen One."

Rookwood gave a noticeable start, but Malfoy covered it by saying, "You're talking about a Prophecy that was made twenty-six years ago, Madam Avenir. That is hardly ancient and, in any case, it has already been fulfilled."

"I am not speaking of Sybil Trelawney's rather vague and questionable Prophecy," said Madame Avenir with a loud sniff that let everyone know precisely what she thought of the Hogwarts Divination teacher. "That was luck more than anything, and I do not believe this legend concerns Harry Potter, at least not directly. This is a legend that goes back many thousands of years. It tells of a child who will be born at a crucial time in wizarding history to a world torn by strife and division. This child, the legend claims, will build a bridge between the Muggle and magical worlds by helping Muggles find the magic within."

For the first timeMalfoy looked startled. "This child will give magic to Muggles?"

"More that he will help them discover untapped reservoirs of magic that already exist in themselves," Madame Avenir said. "It is a subject to which the Dark Lord devoted a great deal of serious study. What else would explain Mudbloods born into families without a trace of magic? The Dark Lord came to the rather distressing conclusion that all humans were originally endowed with magical ability. However, in the course of evolution, those of inferior status lost their powers, whereas those who retained magical ability were clearly of superior lineage. Both Muggles and wizards are part of the human race, but power has been passed down through a natural selection process of winnowing out the weak and the unworthy. Nevertheless, Muggles still have trace elements of magic within them, and if this power were to be rediscovered. . . well, you can imagine the consequences."

The wizards and witches along the table murmured in agreement, but Petroff said, "It is only a legend! It has no bearing whatsoever on our plans."

"It could make Muggles more difficult to subdue," pointed out a wizard with ascraggly looking goatee. "If this bridge between the Muggle and wizarding worlds ever comes to pass, it could undermine everything we're trying to do, Nicolai."

"And timing is of the essence," Madam Avenir added. "According to my calculations, the child is to be born very soon. I cannot pinpoint the exact date, but it could happen within a matter of weeks. Efforts must be made to identify this child and destroy him, lest all our plans go awry."

"This is superstitious nonsense!" Petroff protested. "Nothing should distract us from our primary goal!"

"The Dark Lord believed in the legend," Madam Avenir shot back. "Who are _you_ to say nay?"

A spate of discussion broke out around the table as to the various merits of both sides of the argument. Dolohov raised his hands, imploring everyone to silence. Rookwood, meanwhile, fell into a rather dramatic coughing fit, causing the wizard next to him to pat him on the back and offer him a glass of water from one of the silver carafes on the table.

"Please!" Dolohov shouted to be heard above the din. "Lucius Malfoy did not come all this way to observe us bickering amongst ourselves!"

"It's quite all right, Dolohov," Malfoy said, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement. "I think I've heard enough."

"Have you?" Dolohov said hopefully. "Have we convinced you to lend us your support?"

Malfoy did not respond, but Rookwood stood up, as did Swingle and Dragovic, and all were pointing wands at those who were still seated. There was something extremely odd about Rookwood, though. Before their eyes he was growing taller, his hair was darkening, and the pockmarks on his face were disappearing. All except one in the center of his forehead, and that one looked more like. . . Well, like a scar. A scar shaped like a bolt of lightning.

"You!" Dolohov shouted, reaching for his wand, but a Stunning spell flew across the table and immobilized him. Another spell froze Petroff who was seconds behind him.

"Before anyone else goes for their wands," said Harry Potter, standing in the place where Rookwood had been a moment before, as the group around the table stared in open-mouthed astonishment, "you might be interested to know that this building is surrounded by Aurors, and if you don't want them misinterpreting your actions, I would strongly suggest putting your hands in the air. Oh, and by the way, you're all under arrest for International Conspiracy."

* * *

The conspirators were bound to their chairs by thick ropes. "Where is Rookwood?" Dolohov demanded, as Harry checked the ropes around his ankles to ensure they wouldn't come loose during transport.

"In a holding cell in Dubrovnik," Harry explained. "I'll be taking him back to England with me tomorrow. Straight to Azkaban, in fact."

"And there are cells at Nurmengard vaiting for you," said the wizard who'd posed as Lucius Malfoy's financial advisor, in reality a Croatian security wizard called Horvath. "You vill not be seeing sunshine again for many years, I am thinking." He scowled at one of the wizards who had just appeared in the archway. "Kovac, set up portkeys and let us get this theatrical production on the street."

"Set up portkeys and vot?" asked Kovac, clearly at a loss.

"He meant 'let's get this show on the road,'" Harry murmured as an aside. "I think he wants you to start moving the prisoners."

"Dragovic, we trusted you!" Dolohov said, as Kovac began turning carafes into portkeys. "What happened to honor among thieves?"

"I told you not to trust him," said Petroff. "A common smuggler! How could you trust a man like that?"

"A common smuggler, am I?" Dragovic snarled, placing himself mere inches from where Petroff and Dolohov were tied up, back to back, his face darkening with a kind of feral hatred. "I happen to be a trained security wizard with the Crotian Ministry of Magic. I volunteered for this mission because of my father, an honest trader who specialized in the sale of magical herbs who had the misfortune to wander into an Albanian forest one day. There he encountered your Dark Lord, and it cost him his life, as well as that of my Muggleborn mother. I was only ten years old. I was sent to England to live with relatives. But I came back to work for my father's best friend, Ivan Horvath, a man he trusted. So don't speak to _me_ about trust, you filthy piece of rat droppings!"

"Pavel," Horvath said soothingly as Dragovic lunged toward the bound wizards. "It's over now. It's all over."

"It _isn't _over!" Dragovic shouted, struggling against Horvath's restraining hands. "Not for my parents, nor my cousin Daphne either! He destroyed them, Ivan! He destroyed them all!"

"I know, Pavel," Horvath said. "And now you have avenged them."

"I can't believe Lucius Malfoy betrayed us," Dolohovsaid wonderingly as Horvath led Dragovic away. "He gave us his word, as a wizard and a gentleman!"

"Where is he anyway?" Petroff asked. "Where has he gone?"

Harry looked around. Malfoy had indeed disappeared. Leaving Horvath and his men to look after the prisoners, he ran to the archway and looked up and down the long hall. Seeing nothing, he strode through the ruins until he saw a lone figure standing just outside the lodge, looking over the crest of a hill to the valley below.

Harry walked up quietly beside the woman in oversized robes. Narcissa barely stirred as Harry moved up next to her, but a slight breeze lifted her white-blonde hair and wafted it softly across her face.

"Thanks for picking up on my signal," Harry told her. "I panicked when I felt myself starting to change back. I must not have taken a large enough dose of Polyjuice Potion."

"Well, it _was_ rather obvious," said Narcissa. "I was a bit concerned you might collapse a lung for a moment there."

"You were wonderful, by the way," Harry said. "I'm not sure anyone else could have persuaded them to confess all that. A couple of times I almost believed you were Lucius Malfoy myself."

"You can't live with someone for a quarter of a century without knowing them pretty well," said Narcissa. "And Lucius shared everything with me, whether I wanted to know it or not. I learned all of his secrets."

"How sick is he?" Harry asked.

"He is dying," Narcissa stated flatly. "He started dying the day the Dark Lord fell, and he's been failing ever since."

"The climate in Marseille hasn't helped at all?"

"I took him to Marseille to separate him from Draco. My sole concern was to prevent our son from becoming embroiled in a dying man's final scheme. Lucius will die in comfort. My conscience will be satisfied with that, and then I can return to England to be near my grandson."

Harry didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry" hardly seemed appropriate, under the circumstances. "The wizarding world owes you a tremendous debt of gratitude," he said. "I've known a lot of courageous women in my life, but few could have done what you did."

"In my case, I think it's merely biology," said Narcissa. "All that I do, all I have ever done, is for my son."

"He's lucky to have such a mother."

"He might not agree. I think it may be too late for Draco. I hoped that with his marriage I might see a change in him, but so far I haven't. I am fortunate in my daughter-in-law, though. In some ways she is more my child than Draco ever was."

"You are fond of her," Harry said.

"Very much so," said Narcissa. "Even more since I've come to know her. Pavel had a profound influence on Astoria. They grew up together and he was always her favorite cousin. And after Daphne died it really changed the way she saw the world. It was she who convinced me to come forward, you know, so if either of us deserves credit for courage. . . Well, perhaps between the two of us, we can raise Scorpius to be the man I once hoped his father would be."

"You can be proud of what you did today,"said Harry. "You heard what they were planning. It would have been horrible if they'd succeeded."

"Yes," Narcissa said vaguely. "The legend that woman mentioned. Had you ever heard of it?"

"No," Harry said. "I can't say I ever have."

"Do you believe it?"

Harry shrugged. "What's important is that _they_ believed it, and planned to murder an innocent child because of it. Interesting theory Voldemort had about Muggles. I wonder if there's any truth to it."

Narcissa only flinched a little at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. "Whatever anyone had to say about him, no one ever denied his brilliance. He normally wasn't superstitious, but he believed in the Prophecy. And this legend apparently made sense to him."

Harry regarded the older woman. "There are so many legends. It's hard to know what to believe."

"Yes," Narcissa said. "I suppose that's true."

The fell silent for a moment, then Harry asked, "Will you be all right?"

Narcissa smiled. "Oh, yes. I think so."

"What I mean is," Harry qualified, "will you be able to get home all right?"

"Yes," said Narcissa. "Eventually."

She held out her hand. Harry shook it gently and said, "Until we meet again, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Until then, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said.

Harry waited until Narcissa Apparated with a quiet 'pop' before pulling the parchment from his pocket. He frowned to find it still blank. His last message from Ginny had been last night, asking for permission to tell Ron what she knew, but there had been nothing since then. The parchment only worked one way. Ginny had to initiate contact, but Harry found it disquieting to go so long without a message from her. He was probably worrying for nothing. No doubt she'd just been busy. Perhaps there had been a spate of unexpected company, or maybe she was up to her elbows with research for her book. She did have a tendency to shut out the world when she was in the middle of an especially interesting project. Yes, that had to be it. She'd gotten caught up with something and forgot about the parchment. But with any luck at all, by this time tomorrow he'd be home and they wouldn't have to depend upon these scattered messages to communicate any more.

Feeling buoyed by this thought, Harry returned to Dubrovnik with Horvath and his men. He was finalizing arrangements with the portkey office to extradite Rookwood back to England when a commotion outside drew everyone's attention.

"Vot the hell?" Kovac demanded, looking up from the paperwork he'd been translating.

A voice drifted up the stairs, a shockingly familiar voice that shouted in English, "I am trying to locate Harry Potter! Why can't you just tell me where he is?"

"Merlin's beard," Harry muttered. "It can't be. . ."

He started toward the stairs, but was met halfway down by Charlie Weasley coming up, breathing fire like one of his dragons, with half a dozen Croatian Ministry officials making fruitless efforts to restrain him.

"It's all right," Harry told them. "He's my brother-in-law. Charlie, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Shacklebolt told us where to find you," Charlie replied, as the Croatians backed away, glad to be relieved of any responsibility for this wild-eyed maniac. "I was closest to Dubrovnik so they sent me to track you down. Where the hell have you been, Harry? I've been looking all over for you."

"There was a meeting in Kosovo," said Harry. "I only just got back, and was arranging to transport a prisoner. . ."

"Somebody else will have to do that," Charlie said. "You're going back to London with me straight away."

"Charlie, I can't," said Harry. "I have to. . ."

Harry broke off when Charlie grabbed his robes, nearly lifting him off his feet.

"What you have to do is get your arse home _now_," Charlie said forcefully. "Ginny is in labor. Ready or not, Harry, that kid of yours is about to be born."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thanks so much for all of your good wishes. I'm still on the mend, but things are looking up, and I promise to continue plugging away at this story as time and circumstances permit. _

* * *

In the interest of time, I've decided to answer specific questions from Anonymous Reviewers, but mention all of you in one group thank you. For the last chapter many thanks for brightening my world go to: **Sidney**, **Amy**, **MrsH**, **Jessica**, **Chase**, **NPeaches**, **ray-ray**, **Celestin**a, **prettywheezy**,** THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT**, **Sherry Anderson**, **noviwanwife**,another**Jessica**, **padfootprongs7**, **Christina**, **Starbucks2012**, **Jenn**, and another **Amy**. Now for specific questions.

**Ray-ray:** Yes, I'm from Colorado, but I live just outside of Denver. I like Fort Collins, though. It's a nice town.

**Padfootprongs7:** No, unfortunately Sirius won't be coming back. He's had his day, I'm afraid.

**Starbucks2012:** No, it's not Braxton Hicks. As Charlie has just informed everyone, Ginny is in premature labor.


	22. Chapter 22: Journey's End

_**A/N:**__ Happy Birthday to __**Creative Touch**__! Author's Note at the end this time._

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_Journey's End_

Nobody had spoken in a long while. Every now and then someone would pick up a magazine and attempt to read it, but soon tossed whatever outdated issue they'd picked up back on the table. None of them looked at one another. Bill retied his ponytail a few times. Arthur examined his fingernails. Molly took out her pocket handkerchief to flick dust off a window sill. Ron's foot tapped restlessly. Hermione stroked her bulging abdomen with a thoughtful expression. Once in awhile someone glanced around the room, but for the most part, they seemed to be avoiding each other's eyes, though all looked up whenever there were signs of movement outside the door. Unfortunately, the busy healers always hurried past without stopping.

"Where are they?" asked Ron after a lengthy silence. "They ought to be here by now."

"They have to go through several portkey stations," Hermione pointed out. "It takes time, Ron."

"But they have priority, don't they? Didn't you say Kingsley authorized a diplomatic pass?"

"Yes, but it would still take time," Hermione said, a trifle impatiently.

"Yeah, but how much time?" Ron persisted. "Maybe something's happened. Maybe. . ."

"Oh, stop it, Ron," Hermione snapped. "You're such a doomsayer! Haven't we all got enough to worry about?"

"Me?" said Ron indignantly. "I'm not the one who. . ."

The sound of approaching footsteps made Ron break off in mid-sentence. "Damn it!" he said when George entered the room. "It's only you!"

"Lovely to see you too, little brother," said George. "That's the thanks I get for covering for you at the shop this afternoon?"

Ron looked at his watch. "It's only five. Why'd you close early?"

"Because I'm worried about Ginny, too," George replied. "I asked Verity to take charge. It was slow anyway. Katie's gone to drop Fred off at her mum's, but she'll be here directly. Where are Percy and Penny?"

"In with Ginny," Bill explained.

George nodded. "Any change?"

"Not since you were here this morning," Molly said.

"No word about Harry, I suppose?" asked George.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I spoke with the Minister. Apparently he's been working undercover in Dubrovnik."

"Dubrovnik?" said George. "And Shacklebolt knew? Why didn't he tell us?"

"Because he was _undercover,_" Ron said sarcastically. "The whole point of it being that no one's supposed to know."

"Thanks, Ron, I worked that much out," said George, equally sarcastic. "But we're his _family_. You'd think they would have told _us_ at least."

"Ginny knew," Hermione said absently.

Ron scowled at her. "How do you know that?"

Hermione shrugged, which had been her response to every question about her conversation with Shacklebolt. No one knew what she said to convince him to reveal Harry's whereabouts, and Ron was annoyed that she refused to tell him anything.

"So Ginny knew, but we didn't," said Ron, apparently unwilling to let it go. "Well, that's rich."

"She's his wife, Ron," Bill said. "If anyone needed to know, she'd be the one."

"What I mean is, why didn't _she_ tell us?" Ron demanded. "I was talking with her about this just last night. Why didn't she tell me then?"

George shrugged. "Why don't you ask her?"

"Nobody's asking Ginny anything," said Molly, shooting a glare at her sons. "She has enough to cope with just now."

"The point is," Arthur said hastily when he saw the irritable look on Ron's face, "we know where Harry is now. We've sent Charlie to try and find him, and hopefully they'll be here before. . . Well, before anything happens."

Percy and Penelope came in. "She's sleeping again," Penelope explained. "We spoke with one of the healers, though."

"I don't suppose they told you anything new?" Molly inquired.

Percy shook his head. "He said basically the same thing all the others did. It could happen tonight or the day after tomorrow. They just don't know."

The sound of footsteps in the hall made everyone look up hopefully once more. They tried not to look too disappointed when Katie appeared in the doorway. "Any news?" she asked.

They all shook their heads. Molly, however, had not seen Katie in several weeks. After an appraising look at her daughter-in-law, she announced, "You're pregnant!"

"Mum," said George, "you have _got_ to stop doing that!"

"Is it true?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Katie confirmed with a smile. "We'd planned to tell all of you this weekend."

"But now _that_ plan's spoilt," grumbled George. "Thanks a lot, Mum!"

Molly ignored him. "A little brother or sister for Fred!" she exclaimed. "When will it be, dear?"

"September," Katie replied. "We only found out yesterday."

"That's wonderful, Katie," said Hermione.

"Yeah, congratulations," Ron said, smiling for the first time that day.

"Another Weasley, eh?"" said Bill, shaking George's hand. "Well done, little bro'!"

"It was nothing, really," George replied modestly.

"Easy for you to say," Katie scoffed. "I'm the one who has to. . ."

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the sound of running footsteps in the hall. A second later Harry and Charlie thundered past at top speed.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, rushing to the door. The familiar voice arrested them and made them double back. Hermione flung her arms around Harry, then Molly pushed her aside to envelop her son-in-law in a bone-crushing hug. Arthur pumped his hand, and there was a lot of back slapping from Ron and his brothers before they all turned to greet Charlie. Harry, however, seemed barely to recognize any of them. His robes were rumpled and disheveled, his hair was wilder and more unkempt than ever, and his bright green eyes were wide with shock and fear.

"What's happening?" he gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "Where's Ginny? What's going on?"

"She hasn't had the baby yet," Arthur said soothingly. "She's all right, Harry. For now anyway."

Harry looked confused. "Charlie told me she was in labor. I don't understand. She isn't due for two more months. "

"They've given her a potion to stop the contractions," said Bill, "and another to help the baby's lungs develop faster. They're trying to delay the birth long enough to. . . Well, to give the baby a fighting chance."

Harry blinked. "A 'fighting chance?' What's that supposed to mean?"

"Harry," said Hermione tremulously, "the baby is small. Very small."

Harry's gaze shifted from Bill to Hermione. "How small?"

"Less than eight hundred grams," Hermione said. "That's what they're estimating anyway."

She gave this hideous news a moment to sink in before adding, "There's a problem with the placenta. They think the blood supply may have been compromised. They're not sure if. . . That is, they don't know . ."

Her gaze faltered under the look Harry gave her. No one was able to look at him. Instead they all seemed fascinated by the pattern of the tile on the floor.

"Hermione," Harry said, "are you telling me the baby might not. . . survive?"

Hermione bit her lip, and the others exchanged anguished looks. Molly's eyes filled with tears. "What about Ginny?" Harry asked. "Is she in any danger?"

"Because of the way the placenta is placed, there is a danger of hemorrhage," Bill admitted. "But they're monitoring her very carefully. Every consideration for her safety is being taken into account. It's a high risk situation, though. It's no use pretending otherwise."

"A lot of premature babies survive and do very well later in life, Harry," said Arthur. "There's no reason to give up hope. And Ginny is young and strong. I'm sure she'll come through just fine."

Harry stared at Arthur as if he had just spoken a foreign language. It took several minutes for everything to penetrate the thick fog that had settled in his brain. "Where is James?" he asked.

"Shell Cottage," Bill replied. "Fleur took him back there with our lot."

Harry took several deep breaths to steady himself. "Does Ginny know?"

Hermione nodded. "They had to sedate her. She was pretty upset when she heard about the baby."

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his scar in a distracted way. "I want to see her."

"Perhaps you should take a minute to collect yourself first, Harry," Molly suggested. "She's asleep now and you don't want to. . ."

"I won't disturb her," Harry said. "I'll. . . I'll just sit with her until she wakes up."

Molly looked as if she wanted to protest, but Arthur said, "It's his right, Molly." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'll take you, son. Her room is just this way."

* * *

It was too soon. The thought pounded through Ginny's head. This child's entry into the world, nearly two months ahead of schedule, created an atmosphere thick with fear, and the grave faces of the healers told her even more than their words. Specialists were called in who waved wands over Ginny's bulging abdomen and walked away to confer in hushed whispers. It didn't take a genius to work out that nothing was as it should be.

When the healers told her how small the baby was and estimated its chances for survival at less than ten percent, Ginny burst into loud, agonized, heart-wrenching sobs that frightened everyone around her. What they didn't understand was that she wasn't just crying for her baby. She cried for everything and everyone, for Fred, Remus and Tonks, for Dumbledore and Sirius, and all the others who had died violently and needlessly. She cried for herself, for all the loneliness and missed opportunities, for the hurts and misunderstandings she hadn't allowed herself to feel before. Ginny had always been tough. Her brothers used to joke that she was the toughest member of the family, but she had learned relatively early in life that any show of weakness would result in chronic teasing. For so long she had held all her pain inside and as a result had almost lost the knack for weeping. But now she gave herself up to it, and cried about everything that had gone wrong since the moment of her birth until the healers came running with sedatives and there were no more tears left to shed.

Fortunately, the sedatives made the blackness of fear fade to a gray twilight, and made the pain recede to a dull ache. Bits and pieces floated into her consciousness, and just as easily floated out again. If only Harry were here, she kept thinking. Harry would not let anything bad happen to her or their baby. The logic behind this notion was shaky at best, but Ginny clung to it as to a lifeline. If Harry were there, the world would somehow right itself again. As it was, everything was wrong, and everyone else just made it worse. Her family tried so hard to be cheerful for her sake that she felt compelled to pretend to be cheerful for their sakes, and it left her feeling exhausted. Arthur became so fascinated by a bit of Muggle technology called a fetal monitor that Healer Giatros banned him from Ginny's room because he couldn't leave it alone and kept making it give out false readings. Molly fussed about smoothing coverlets and making soothing noises, while Ginny's brothers and their wives drifted in and out, sharing bits of news and making confident predictions that nobody believed. Bill informed her that Fleur was looking after James, so she knew he was being well cared for. Percy shared the news that little Prudence was cutting her first tooth. Ron informed her that he was thinking about opening a new branch of the joke shop in Wales, and Hermione repeated her assertion that Charlie _would_ find Harry and bring him back soon, as if by repeating it often enough she could make it come true.

Ginny knew they were trying to be helpful, but she wished they would all go away. She took to pretending to be asleep when they came to her room, so no one stayed very long before tiptoeing out to let her rest. The truth, however, was that she was afraid to sleep because she kept dreaming of crumbling buildings on steep cliffs and ballrooms full of Death Eaters. Random images played like a crazy kaleidoscope in her mind. In one dream the baby was born with a lightning shaped birthmark, and Rookwood, the Death Eater who had killed Fred, spoke in Harry's voice to declare that this child was the new Chosen One who must be sacrificed to bring peace to the world.

Ginny woke from this dream with her heart pounding, determined not to fall asleep again, but the waking nightmare was just as bad. The baby couldn't die. It didn't seem possible that such a thing could happen. What about all those dreams, and the promise of a special destiny? Were they only that, mere dreams, illusory tricks of her subconscious? Or had these visions of the dead presaged something ominous? Had all her dream visitors been trying to warn her of impending disaster? But try though she might, Ginny could recall no caution in their words, only the sentiment shared by all that this child was in some way unique. She struggled to bring to mind everything they had said. Remus and Tonks said the baby was special. Fred mentioned something about a placental transference. Dumbledore said the child would have spiritual gifts. And Sirius said the same spirits that guided Harry would also guide their child. None of it made sense separately, and together it was even more confusing. Thinking about it actually made her head ache, and sleep overtook her once more.

When she woke from yet another bizarre dream, the room was dark and someone was bending over her, leaving a tender kiss on her forehead. At first Ginny thought it was part of the dream. But as she blinked her way back to consciousness, she experienced a sudden flashback of awakening in the Chamber of Secrets, and seeing Harry in his blood-soaked robes. The odd mixture of terror and relief she had felt then came flooding back to her now.

"Hi," Harry said simply, which struck Ginny as so anticlimactic that she nearly laughed out loud.

"Hi yourself," Ginny replied "Charlie found you then."

"Yes, he did," Harry said. "Although not before laying waste to half of Dubrovnik." He held her hand, rubbing his thumb along the inside of her wrist, and searching her face in the dim light of the darkened room as if he could never get enough of looking at her. "How do you feel?"

"Scared," said Ginny. It wasn't what she had intended to say, but the word just popped out.

"Me, too," Harry said.

He tried to smile reassuringly, but it didn't come off very well. Ginny could see all the apprehension and anguish of the past few hours, but he was trying so hard to put on a brave face and the effort was obviously costing him a great deal. He stroked her hair, and in his eyes was every emotion he had ever felt, every sorrow, every joy, every fear, every hope.

"I'm so sorry, love," he said in a choky whisper. "Sorry for everything. If only I had been here. . ."

"Harry, don't. Please don't."

"But if I had been here. . . If you hadn't had the stress of worrying about me. . ."

"Harry, if we're going to start assigning blame, there's more than enough to go round. Merlin knows I've blamed myself for all this."

"Blamed yourself?" said Harry. "How could you possibly. . ."

"Because I didn't want it!" Ginny blurted out. It was something she had been thinking for a long time, but hadn't dared bring to the surface for examination before now. "I didn't want this baby! Oh, I want it now. I want it desperately now. But when I found out I was pregnant again. . . You remember how angry I was. What if, on some subconscious level. . ."

"Ginny, no! You can't think that way! You mustn't let yourself. . ."

"Then you mustn't either," Ginny declared. "Maybe we're both at fault. Or maybe it happened for no reason at all. But it isn't going to do any good for either of us to beat ourselves up over it. So, please, Harry, no more guilt trips, okay?"

Harry resumed stroking her hair. "Well, I'm home to stay now. It's over. I won't leave you again, I promise.

Ginny smiled. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"But. . ."

"No," said Ginny. "Eventually the world will need saving again, and when it does you'll answer the call. You wouldn't be the man I love if you refused. I knew that when I married you. I knew it when I fell in love with you. I've always known it."

"Ginny," said Harry, "you are _everything_ to me. All I want, all I've ever wanted. . ."

"I know," Ginny said. "But it's who you are, Harry, and I love you for who are. I don't want you to change. I've never wanted that, especially since I know that you'll always come back to me."

"Always," Harry said, bending to kiss her again. "Always, Ginny."

It was the touch of his lips on hers that finally made his iron control crack. Reacting instinctively, Ginny pulled him to her and they both wept, tears mingling on their cheeks as they clung together. For some reason Ginny thought of the first time she'd seen him, when he had still been a shining idea to her, a larger than life figure in her fantasies. The frightened eleven-year-old boy she saw at King's Cross Station that fateful day did not quite match the Harry Potter of legend, but for five more years Ginny continued to polish the suit of armor for which she'd fitted him in her imagination, until that breathless moment when she ran across the common room into his arms. It had seemed then that every dream she'd ever dreamed had come true, but with Voldemort's ascension the dream became a nightmare, and her little girl crush met the reality of Harry's dark moods, his stubbornness, and his occasional arrogance. She had learned so much about him since then, his ups and downs, his fortes and foibles, his strengths and idiosyncrasies. But there would always be parts of him that he kept locked away and hidden, just as there were parts of her that he would never know, dreams and longings and vague imaginings she would never share with anyone, which were hers alone in her secret heart of hearts. He wasn't perfect. He wasn't larger than life. He wasn't the Noble Knight of her fantasies. But she had married a man, not an idea, and she loved him, not in spite of his flaws, but because of them. Given a choice between the dream Harry and the Harry she knew, Ginny had long ago decided that she preferred the real thing.

"Have you seen James?" Ginny asked as, with a few shuddering breaths, they finally broke apart.

"Not yet," said Harry. "I thought I might go to Shell Cottage later."

"Not tonight," Ginny said, reaching out for him again. "I need to feel you close to me tonight."

"Whatever you want, love," said Harry. "I'll do anything. Anything you want."

She moved over to make room for him and he climbed onto the bed, curling himself around her in their favorite spoon position. He buried his face in her hair, one hand splayed over her belly, his breath warm on her neck. Ginny thought of all the petty things she'd worried over and complained about before this. Every one of them seemed miniscule and insignificant now. Yet at the same time, with Harry beside her, she felt so safe, so contented and safe. Nothing bad could happen to her, not now that Harry was here. She was safe in the place they both belonged, in the shelter of each other's arms.

Ginny drifted off to sleep again, but this time no disturbing dreams came to wake her. When she opened her eyes, Harry was snoring softly beside her, but a full bladder made Ginny stir restlessly. The healers had been allowing her to get up long enough to use the bathroom so, slipping quietly out of bed, she made her way to the loo. But when she emerged, Harry was gone. Instead, two people sat in chairs beside the bed, a man and a woman whom Ginny did not know. The lights were on, and they looked up expectantly when she re-entered the room. Ginny assumed they were healers. But where on earth was Harry?

"There was no need to send my husband away," Ginny said. "Even if you need to do an examination. He was with me all through the birth of our first child and. . ."

"We're not healers," said the woman. "And Harry hasn't gone anywhere."

Ginny looked around the room. There was no sign of Harry. "Where is he then?"

"He's exactly where you left him," the man assured her. "You just can't see him."

"Why not?" Ginny demanded.

They did not answer, but smiled in a friendly yet knowing way The man looked incredibly familiar, though Ginny was quite sure they had never met before. And the woman. . . What _was_ it about her? It was the eyes, Ginny decided, almond-shaped and emerald green, almost like. . . But no. That was just silly! But the woman had dark red hair, a kind, pretty face, and she looked so familiar that Ginny couldn't help taking a closer look. She glanced between the two, first the woman, then the man, and the answer came in a blinding flash that left her dumbfounded.

"You're not. . ." Ginny said. "Merlin's Beard! You _can't_ be!"

They grinned in unison. "Hello, Ginny," said James Potter. "I can't tell you how much Lily and I have been looking forward to meeting you."

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_**A/N: **Once again I find myself in the position of apologizing for the delay in updating, but e__ver since I started writing this story, one disaster seems to have followed another until I've become convinced the bloody thing is haunted – in more ways than one! This week was broken up by several days spent at the hospital after my father suffered complications from a surgery that wasn't supposed to be complicated. He's still there, as a matter of fact, so I won't make any promises about the next update, other than to say I'll do my best. __In the meantime, thanks so much for your continued support and encouragement. Your kind thoughts and good wishes keep me going. I appreciate it more than mere words can possibly express._

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**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers:** Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewersfor your thoughtful comments: **Jessica**, **NPeaces**, **Amy**, **Celestina**, c**hinchillaqueen13**, **Prisca**, **Padfootprongs7**, **starbucks2012**, **ChickenChild**, **MrsH**, **noviwanwife**, **xoxox**, **Leonie**, and **Christina**. Answers to specific questions are included below.

**chinchillaqueen13:** Yes, before Charlie turned up, Harry had planned to go home the next day. Due to Harry's family situation, however, somebody else will have to transport Rookwood back to Azkaban.

**Celestina:** Can't answer your question about the new 'Chosen One' just yet. That answer should come soon, though.

**Amy:** Same as above. Can't answer the question just yet, but the next chapter should clarify a few things.

**Jessica:** Sorry updates have been taking so long.


	23. Chapter 23: Meet the Parents

_**A/N:**__. Sorry it's been so long since I updated. See the Author's Note at the end for an explanation. _

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**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Meet the Parents_

The woman glided toward Ginny. She really did glide, Ginny thought, or perhaps 'float' was a better word. She stood a few feet away, smiling pleasantly as Ginny stammered incoherently, "You're. . . You. . . Aren't you? That is, er. . . Well, how do you do?"

Ginny held out her hand, but neither of them moved to take it. Instead they simply beamed at her, and Ginny smiled back rather tentatively. The woman – it was so strange to think of her as Harry's mother – looked sympathetic, but Ginny hovered somewhere between incredulity and incipient hysteria. It was nerve-wracking enough to meet one's in-laws for the first time when they were alive, but this. . . Well, awkward didn't even begin to describe it!

Ginny assessed her surroundings. Where were they? The hospital room, the bed, and all the medical equipment had disappeared, and they were now surrounded by a thick, white mist that made everything hazy, surreal, as though glimpsed through a thick veil or heavy fog. Only the two people in front of her looked solid, and even they were a little blurred around the edges. Ginny tried not to stare, but it was so bizarre to see ghostly echoes of Harry and their child in these two long-dead strangers. Harry really did look remarkably like his father. Ginny found it incredible that she hadn't recognized him immediately. Same coloring, same build, same height. Except for the eyes and nose, they might have been twins. As for Lily, she was taller than Ginny, and her hair was a darker, less coppery red. But her eyes were just like Harry's: bright green and almond-shaped, and they formed crinkles at the corners when she smiled. Looking at her, Ginny realized that young James's eyes, though blue like his Granddad Weasley, were the same shape as Lily's, and he had the messy Potter hair, albeit a couple of shades lighter than either Harry's or his paternal grandfather's. Ridiculous to think of this man as a grandfather! He looked far too young, but of course James Potter had only been twenty-one when he died. Harry was older than that now, and never at any time in his life had Harry worn that air of easy confidence that seemed to radiate from this man's every pore. But he didn't have pores, did he? His earthly remains lay in a graveyard in Godric's Hollow next to those of his wife, so he couldn't very well have pores, could he? What was he exactly? Neither of them looked like ghosts, but both had an out-of-focus quality, like an Impressionist painting, or something viewed through a badly smudged lens.

"Remus and Sirius didn't come close to doing you justice," James said, jolting Ginny out of her reverie. "They said you were pretty, but. . ."

"James, stop it!" Lily chided him. "You're embarrassing her."

"I was merely commenting on the fact that our son has excellent taste," James defended himself. "But of course it runs in the family. Apples don't fall too far from the tree."

"Honestly!" Lily rolled her eyes. "Can't you even make a compliment without flattering yourself?"

"Well, I like that! Don't _I_ have great taste in women?"

James pulled Lily into an embrace which she made token efforts to resist, but settled for giving him a half-exasperated, half-fond look. "Tell me again why I put up with you."

"Because I'm irresistible," said James. "Not to mention practically perfect. Aside from a few minor flaws, of course."

"Includiung massive egotism and a complete inability to stay out of trouble," Lily concluded, though her lips were twitching.

"You know perfectly well that's all Padfoot's fault. He's a bad influence on me. Always has been." James looked up, seeming to listen for something, then called out, "Shut up! You are!"

Lily laughed and informed Ginny, "That's Potter calling Black a kettle."

"Excuse me," said Ginny, who had begun to feel a bit superfluous, "but where in Merlin's name are we? And what have you done with Harry?"

"He's still here," James replied. "Look again, why don't you?"

Ginny did so. To her astonishment, the mist parted and the hospital room reappeared. But Harry was no longer lying next to her. Instead he stood to one side, gazing in horror at a scene of frantic activity as green-robed healers clustered round the bed. There were blood stains everywhere: on the floor, dripping from the bed, spattered across the healers' robes. It looked as though someone had been viciously slashed. Ginny moved closer, peering down at the motionless white figure on the bed, still and silent as a marble effigy. She looked at the face, and reeled backward in shock.

"What. . . how. . ." she gasped. "But. . . but. . . It _can't_ be!"

"No!" Harry shouted, causing Ginny to twirl around to face him. His voice had a desperate, hollow sound, and he gripped his hair with both hands, nearly yanking it out by the roots. "Ginny, no! Don't leave me! Please!"

"Harry?" Ginny cried, feeling her heart break at the sight of his anguish. "Harry, I'm here! I'm right here!"

She tried to go to him, to prove that thing on the bed wasn't _her_, but something prevented her from reaching him. James stepped in front of her, raising his right hand and waving it over the scene. Mist swirled, obscuring Harry from view. When it cleared again he was lying peacefully on the bed, clearly asleep, though his face twitched and his eyes darted rapidly back and forth beneath their lids. And Ginny was lying next to him.

Ginny blinked, startled at the sight of herself apparently sleeping beside her husband. At least she _thought_ it was her. Considering the fact that Harry was in bed with her, it had damned well _better_ be her! She turned to Lily and James, bewildered. "What the. . ."

"He's dreaming," Lily explained. "You saw his dream."

Ginny felt as though her head was about to explode. She had seen Harry's dream, but was surely dreaming herself. Was she dreaming of him dreaming, or was it the other way around? A dream within a dream, as it were. Which came first, the dragon or the egg? Ginny thought longingly of a time when her dreams had been simple, the problems of the day stepped up to absurdity, filled with bizarre emotions, strange symbols, and ordinary events, like dancing naked with a unicorn.

"How in the name of Merlin can I be _there_," she demanded, making some wild demonstration with her hands, "when I'm standing right _here_?"

"You are in spirit form," Lily explained, "also known as the astral body. Sometimes, in the dreaming state, or in moments of great physical or emotional stress, it is possible to project it into other realms."

Ginny had heard about things like this. There had been something about astral bodies in one of the books Hermione had procured for her. But astral projection frequently occurred when. . .

"Does this mean," Ginny said, looking again at the body on the bed and feeling curiously detached from it, which was crazy because, after all, it was _her_, "that I'm either dead or dying?"

"Hardly," said James. "You've vacated your physical body, but you're still bound to it. Look behind you."

Ginny twisted around, seeing a shimmering silver cord that seemed to run from somewhere inside herself to the body on the bed. It was semi-transparent, but appeared to be composed of various strands of light that glowed with an odd luminosity. Strangely, Ginny felt the way she always did, only far more airy and light. Less substantial than flesh, but more than mere ether or mist. And she wasn't pregnant! The body on the bed was, but _she_ wasn't. And yet, that was _her_. Wasn't it?

"Where am I?" Ginny asked. "_What_ am I? Will someone please explain?"

Lily and James exchanged looks. Lily, Ginny observed, had a habit of raising one eyebrow slightly higher than the other whenever she found something ironic or amusing. Harry did that, too, Ginny reflected, and why on earth was she thinking about such things when there were so many more pressing issues?

"You're right," Lily said finally. "It's time you had some answers. Why don't you and I go for a walk?"

"A walk?" Ginny said blankly. "Where?"

"Oh, down the hall a bit," Lily replied. "James, you'll deal with Harry?"

"Of course," James said. "Don't be too long. Time is running out."

"What does that. . ." Ginny began, but Lily ushered her toward the door and said, "Come with me, Ginny."

She led the way down a long, unfamiliar corridor. It looked nothing like anything Ginny had ever seen before, and certainly not at St. Mungo's. There seemed to be no walls, floors, or ceiling, and everything was enveloped in mist, just like the room they had just left. If that even was a room. Come to think of it, there hadn't been walls, floors, or a ceiling there either.

"What's happening?" Ginny asked, as she walked beside Lily. "Am I dreaming again, or is all of this really happening?"

"And if you _are _dreaming," said Lily, "would that make any of it less real?"

Ginny stared, nonplussed, and Lily said, "There is often truth in dreams that cannot be found in the waking state. It is a place where the subconscious mind need not battle the force of logic, or what humans call reason. Logic relies upon assumptions, reason is highly opinionated, and the conscious mind is vastly limited in its scope. It likes everything to be sequential and can only process bits of information at a time, while the subconscious is aware of everything simultaneously, and can easily make associations and connections between many thoughts, ideas, and feelings. Ironic, isn't it, that humans place such emphasis on conscious thinking when it's restricted in so many ways?"

Ginny had to think about this. She wasn't sure she really followed Lily's argument, but it sounded logical, which really _was _ironic, considering that was what she was arguing against.

"Why are you here?" Ginny demanded again, then realized how this sounded and amended, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I really don't understand. . ."

"Ask anything you like," Lily offered. "I'll answer what I can."

"All right then. What did he mean, 'time is running out?'"

"Our time with you is limited," Lily said. "It's because of your child that we've come. While you share a bloodline, his gifts are yours. Once that connection is severed, however, we won't be able to communicate with you so directly."

Ginny's eyes went wide, recalling Fred's reference to a 'placental transference.' Was this what he meant? Ginny still didn't understand it, but it was nevertheless clear that this might be her last chance to obtain any real answers. She had so many questions and they were all jumping up and down, waving their hands in the air for attention.

"The baby," Ginny said, since this seemed the most urgent matter. "Will he live?"

Lily sighed. "Alas, that's one question I can't answer. Not because it's a secret, but because I honestly don't know. The future is not set in stone, you know. Many paths are predetermined, but there are always forks in the road, and everything can turn on the direction you take. "

Ginny had half-expected a response like this, but that didn't make it any easier. She wanted answers, not questions. She needed reassurance, not more ambiguities! Couldn't anyone give her a simple, straightforward answer? What was it about being dead that made people so maddeningly abstruse anyway?

They had come to a door. Lily opened it and indicated that Ginny should pass through ahead of her. Ginny gaped in astonishment at the sight that greeted her. They had stepped into a thicket of trees that formed a canopy of dappled sunlight.

"Where are we?" asked Ginny, hearing birdsong overhead.

Lily did not answer, but walked along a short path that led to the bank of a shining river. Ginny followed her, looking around at rows of tall, stately trees, newly in bud in the first blush of spring, their tender young leaves like a fine, green mist hovering over the branches. Lily perched on a fallen log, spreading her robes around her. Ginny sat on the same log, stealing glances at the woman beside her as the almond-shaped eyes gazed across the river to the opposite shore.

"I grew up near here," Lily said after a long silence. "This was always one of my favorite places. There was a magic in these woods that seemed to emanate from the very soil. Sometimes the trees seemed to whisper to me, but I never could hear what they were saying."

Ginny listened, but could hear nothing, only the gush of water as it tumbled over rocks below them.

"Severus could talk to trees," Lily went on. "He knew them all by name, and they spoke to him, telling him things he shared with me. I was the only one who ever knew that about him. He was afraid people would think he was barmy. Even in the wizarding world, talking to trees is a little outside the mainstream."

There was sorrow in the green eyes, and perhaps a trace of regret. "Did you know?" Ginny asked hesitantly. "How he felt about you?"

Lily shook her head, her long hair rippling in the sunlight. "No, I didn't, but James did. He claims he always knew, and Severus certainly knew how James felt. Unlike Severus, however, James made it rather obvious. I think – yes, I really think – that must have been why they disliked each other."

Ginny could think of a lot of reasons James might have disliked Snape, but she didn't say this. What she did say was, "James saved his life, though. Harry told me about the time Sirius tricked him into going to the Shrieking Shack during the full moon. James went after him, didn't he? He saved Snape's. . . er, Severus's life."

"Severus was so angry about that," Lily said. "I thought he was being terribly ungrateful, but Severus knew why James did it. He was always terribly perceptive, Sev was. You see, James thought I returned Severus's feelings."

Ginny was puzzled by this logic. "In that case, I really don't understand. Why'd he do it then?"

"For me," said Lily. "Even though James despised Severus, he couldn't bear thinking how devastated I would be if. . . Well, if anything had happened."

Ginny was very nearly speechless. "That's so. . ." she said, groping for the right words, "I don't know, unbelievable!"

"Yes," Lily agreed with a rueful smile. "I think that was when I really began to love James. When I realized my happiness meant more to him than his own. That he'd be willing to risk his life to keep a life I loved beside me. It forced me to reassess everything I'd ever thought about him, and Severus knew it. He knew how a gesture like that would affect me, so he tried to make out that James only did it to protect his friends. Sev never would give James the benefit of the doubt. Any more than James would have given it to Sev."

"If you'd known earlier," Ginny said quietly, "how Snape. . . that is, how Severus felt. . . would it have changed anything, do you think?"

"I don't know," said Lily. "He was like a brother to me. A very well loved brother, to be sure, but a brother all the same. He never intimated – or I never saw – that I was ever more than a sister to him. And James and I were happy together, even with the threat of Voldemort looming over us. So I don't know if it would have changed anything. What I do know is that I loved James long before I was willing to admit it. Maybe even before I knew it myself."

Ginny felt an inexplicable sadness, and wasn't that strange? Sorrow was one emotion she never thought she'd feel for Snape. Loathing, yes. Disgust, certainly. Resentment, of course. But sadness? There had always been something about the greasy-haired Potions Master that killed tender emotion. But Ginny could not help being moved when she thought how agonizing it must have been for Snape to look at Harry and see the eyes of a woman he adored in the face of a man he had always hated. Yet he had been willing to fight and die for Harry. No, not for Harry. For her. For Lily.

"Fate is a funny thing," said Lily, gazing up past the branches to the patch of sky beyond. "I thought James and I would grow old together, surrounded by our children and grandchildren. It didn't quite work out that way. But I can't complain. Death has been good to us. We're still together, and we saved Harry. He was the important thing. We accomplished that much while we lived."

"You accomplished a great deal then," Ginny said. "I've always wanted to. . . to thank you for that. Because otherwise I never would have known him. I never would have had a chance to love him. And by saving him, you saved so many others. It was incredibly brave, what you did."

"I don't know how brave it was," Lily replied with what Ginny thought was unseemly modesty. "I know Dumbledore told Harry that I was given a choice, but what sort of choice was it? What mother wouldn't stand between her child and death?"

"There are some who wouldn't," said Ginny, though she was thinking of her own mother battling Bellatrix Lestrange. "There are some who would have stood aside."

"I couldn't have," Lily said. "Not and live with myself afterward. I only wish someone other than Petunia and Vernon could have raised Harry. Of course I don't blame Dumbledore for that. He did what he had to do after that awful business with Peter, and Sirius ending up in Azkaban. But when Petunia dies, she and I will have words. Whenever I think about that cupboard under the stairs. . ."

"I know," Ginny said. "I feel the same way."

"There will be a day of reckoning for my sister," Lily vowed grimly, and the look on her face caused Ginny to feel briefly sorry for Harry's erstwhile aunt, though it evaporated with shocking suddenness. "James has his own plans for Vernon. I won't bore you with the details, but it's something he's been cooking up with Remus and Sirius. I believe your brother Fred has had some input as well. So if you happen to run into them in the meantime, tell them to be afraid. Be very afraid!"

Ginny laughed. "I will!" she promised.

"But painful as it was," Lily went on, "and believe me, I will have _plenty_ to say about it when the time comes – it seems to have made Harry even stronger. All of his experiences worked together to make him the incredible man he is today. James and I are so proud of him, not least because of the life he's made with you. It's a wonderful thing to love someone the way you and Harry love each other, Ginny. I was delighted when the two of you came together, and we all celebrated on your wedding day."

Ginny didn't know where to look. She knew she must be blushing (though in her present form she wasn't sure how that looked), but she was pleased, too. Very pleased. "I always wondered," she said in a small voice that sounded foolish to her own ears, "what you would have thought of me."

Lily's smile was warmer than ever. "I would have approved. I think we would have loved one another, you and I."

Ginny could not think what to say to this. In fact, she was quite incapable of saying much of anything for several minutes while they sat listening to the twittering of birds, the rustle of leaves, the sound of the river racing past. When she could speak again, she said, "All the others – Remus and Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore, and Sirius – said this baby was special. What did they mean? Can you tell me?"

Lily didn't answer right away. Finally she pointed to a stand of willow on the opposite bank. "Those trees are connected through a complex root system beneath the surface of the earth. Even when the trees die, the roots live on and continue to send forth shoots to form new saplings. It's kind of a miracle, really. Each of them separate and distinct, and yet they share a common source."

Ginny was confused again. Why was Lily giving her a lesson in horticulture? But after a brief pause she said, "There is a great storm coming, Ginny. The veil of secrecy that has existed for so many thousands of years will be rent asunder, and two worlds that have long been separate will collide. Needless to say, the potential for violence and upheaval during this time is very great, but the possibilities for creating a lasting understanding are equally great. Only someone who is in touch with the collective consciousness that is the Source of all life will be able to forge a link that will be necessary if calamity is to be averted. Only someone who understands that we are all connected, that none of us is alone, and everything that lives has a purpose, even though it may not be visible on the surface, will be able to prevent annihilation."

Ginny's throat felt dry. "Are you saying. . . Our child. . ."

"His spirit is that of a great Master who has elected to return to earth at a crucial time. Though he will appear to be a very ordinary child, as a man he will have special gifts of courage, wisdom, sympathy, understanding, and strength of heart that will enable him to lead others. And he chose as his parents two powerfully connected soul mates who were guided to the enchanted atmosphere of Rose Cottage to conceive in love in a place of love a child whom some have called the Chosen One."

Ginny felt a chill run through her. "No," she said in a hoarse whisper. "It _can't_ be! Not again!"

Lily's face was soft with understanding. "It won't be the same, Ginny. He won't have Harry's challenges, though he will have plenty of his own. There are many who are chosen, but few answer the call and each serves a unique purpose. And he will not be alone. Even now there are two others who wait at the portal of life to stand beside your son as he makes his journey. One will come to him early, for they share a bond of blood. She will be to him what her parents were to his father, companion, guide, sister, and friend."

"A bond of blood," said Ginny. "So she is. . ."

"His cousin," Lily said simply. "Conceived, as he was, in a place of love and magic."

"And the other?" said Ginny. "You said there were two. Who is. . .?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know his name," Lily said. "But he will present a challenge. An ancient legend claims that the Chosen One must face three great tests before he begins his journey. The second test requires him to turn an old enemy away from a Dark power. If he can achieve this, he will be bolstered and strengthened. Otherwise his own strength will be compromised and the way ahead strewn with even greater peril. "

"If that's the second test," said Ginny, "what's the first?" She thought she already knew, but Lily confirmed her suspicions with her next words.

"His birth is symbolic of the struggles he must face later in life," said Lily. "If he survives, he will be deemed worthy. If not, he must return and try again."

Ginny's hands automatically fluttered to her midriff until she remembered that _this_ body wasn't pregnant. "How can I help him?" asked Ginny. "What can I do?"

"Be his mother," Lily said. "Love him and nurture him. Guide him and strengthen him. He came from love, Ginny. Only love can set him free."

"But I'm afraid," said Ginny. "I'm afraid for him!"

"Courage is not the absence of fear," Lily told her. "It's being afraid and doing what needs to be done. You can't let fear win, Ginny. He'll need both his parents, but he'll need you especially."

Ginny felt a rising panic. It was too much! "How can we do this?" she implored. "How can Harry and I possibly manage such a responsibility?"

"You won't be alone either," Lily said. "Think of your Patronus."

"My Patronus?" said Ginny, more confused than ever. "What does my Patronus have to do with it?"

"The Patronus is a Guardian Spirit," Lily reminded her as a thick fog began to roll in off the river. "Do you imagine Harry faced all those challenges alone? Could loving parents ever leave their child? No one is alone, Ginny. We are all connected, and we'll be with you, always."

Ginny thought of everything Harry had ever told her, the many battles he'd fought, the challenges he'd faced when there was nothing between him and death but his own wit and courage. But there had been help that arrived at the eleventh hour, and inspiration that seemed to come to him from out of the blue when it seemed all was lost. Where had that inspiration come from? From whence had such help arrived? Harry's Patronus was a stag. How often had it walked beside him in times of trial? Now her own Patronus was a doe, because her soul had bonded with his, and their shared spirit was part of something even larger where all answers could be found. _Spiritus_, Ginny thought wonderingly, as fog swirled around her. _Inspiration._

Ginny looked up and saw James standing at the edge of the clearing. He was nearly obscured by fog, but he waved and grinned at them. Lily stood up and began walking toward him. Ginny walked beside her, pondering all she had learned. She felt that she understood everything now, or at least what she needed to know for the present. And that was enough. It had to be.

"You hear us like thoughts inside your head," Lily said as they strolled through the mist, "or in dreams where we need not battle your skepticism. It's hard for your conscious, reasoning mind to believe in us, but in dreams we can reach you until you awaken and doubts begin."

"I won't remember any of this when I wake up, will I?" Ginny said, another surge of comprehension coming from somewhere unbidden, though she had her suspicions.

"You'll remember some of it," said Lily. "The important things, I think, will stay with you. The rest will slip away into the place dreams usually occupy where truth can be stored until you have need of it. Your spirit will keep it safe. When the time comes, you'll know what to do."

"Why did you come to me?" Ginny asked. "Why not Harry?"

"Do you really have to ask?" said Lily. "When a woman becomes a mother, her life as a separate being ends. But she gains something else, something stronger than death, more powerful than hope, as abiding as truth itself. It's the greatest magic in the universe, Ginny, and it's yours if you choose to accept it. But it's something no man can know. Even one as remarkable as my son."

When they reached James, Ginny was stunned to see Harry standing beside him. "Ginny?" Harry said, clearly bewildered to find himself in such company. "What are you. . . How did I. . . What are we doing here?"

"You're dreaming," James informed him, while Lily drank in the sight of her son. "Relax. You'll wake up in a minute."

"Thank you," Ginny said, as Lily and James clasped hands and moved a little way apart. "Both of you. For everything."

"Thank _you_, Ginny," Lily replied.

"We'll be seeing you," James added with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Say hello to Fred for us," Ginny said. "Sirius, Remus and Tonks, too. And Dumbledore, of course."

Lily smiled again as she and James gradually dissolved into the mist. As the last traces of them faded, Ginny distinctly heard an echo and could have sworn it whispered, "We would have loved one another, you and I."

* * *

It was pain that brought Ginny to full consciousness. Tearing, burning pain and a feeling of wetness, as if she'd just been doused with warm water. She could feel Harry stirring beside her and turned over to look at him.

"I've just had the weirdest dream," Harry murmured, once he saw that Ginny was awake. "You were in it and, believe it or not, so were my. . . Hang on. What's this? Why is the bed all wet?"

"I think my water just broke," said Ginny, feeling remarkably calm, given that another ferocious contraction had just gripped her. Sweat had broken out on her brow by the time she managed to gasp, "See if you can find Healer Giatros, won't you, Harry? Albus is about to be born."

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**Next Chapter:** _Albus_

_**A/N: **_A thousand pardons for my _**extreme**_ tardiness in posting an update, but life has been completely insane the past few weeks. As I've already explained to some of you, things went from bad to worse for my dad, though he is finally on the road to recovery. At any rate, once the entire ghastly episode was resolved, I found that I was not only physically but emotionally exhausted, and simply could not focus enough to write anything more creative than a grocery list. I've been struggling to get back on track for the past couple of weeks, and fighting off Dementor attacks as I drew a blank every single time I sat down at the computer. However, I believe I've finally gotten my 'mojo' working again, and will make every effort to keep updates coming on a regular basis (no guarantees – I'm still a bit nervous about those Dementors, so please send your Patronuses my way, as mine appears to have gone on holiday or something). In the meantime, accept my apologies for neglecting you so shamefully for so very long, and thank you for all your support and encouragement during a very trying time.

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers:** Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewers for your thoughtful comments: **Willa**, **Leira**, **Patricia**, **chinchillaqueen13**, **Emily**, **Anya**, **lalala**, **Hollame**, **LemonLime**, **Sidney**, **Mrs.H**, **Kelsey,** **Angel Girl**, **Jessica**, **noviwanwife**, **Kris**, **Christina**, **Kacie Black**, **Celestina**, **PadfootProngs7**, **Madz**, and **Jenn**. (sorry if I've left anyone out - blame the Dementors!). Answers to specific questions are included below.

**chinchillaqueen13:** Ginny only dreamed that she'd gotten up to go to the loo. I once dreamed the same thing myself and was quite surprised to wake up and find that I hadn't actually gone yet! Sorry for the long delay, but I really do appreciate all your reviews.

**Celestina:** Happy belated birthday to your husband. Hope the reminder about the things you love helped make the celebration even more special.

**PadfootProngs7:** There are still a few chapters left, but we are nearing the end. As for future stories, I'll just have to see where my Muse takes me. Glad you're enjoying this one.

**Christina:** Thanks for your kind words and your understanding about the delay. I appreciate it.

**Lalala:** No, the story is not yet finished, but it is nearing the end.

**Leira:** Sorry to disappoint you, but life has been fairly difficult lately. Things tend to go in cycles, however, so hopefully I'll be able to manage more frequent updates.


	24. Chapter 24: Albus

_**A/N: **Happy Mother's Day! And thanks to Katy (Bad Mum) for help with this chapter._

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**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_Albus_

Harry sat beside Ginny, alternately rubbing her back and belly, depending on where the pain happened to be concentrated. It was still early morning, but two or three days seemed to have gone by since Ginny's membranes had ruptured. The contractions were coming hard and fast when Harry said, "You know, we still don't have a middle name for this baby."

Ginny shot a glare at him, and suggested he do something obscene and anatomically impossible. "Or we could talk about it later," Harry replied. "Slow, deep breaths now, love. Find your focal point."

"Find your own damn focal point!" Ginny yelled. "Merlin, this hurts!"

"I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I wish I could go through it for you."

"Me, too," Ginny replied ungraciously. Gradually the pain withdrew, and Harry stroked her sweaty hair away from her face. "Harry?"

"Yes, love?"

"Talk to me."

"About what?"

"Anything. I don't care. Just talk so I don't have to think. Okay?"

"Okay," said Harry. "I've really missed you and James. I thought about you all the time while I was away. Bet he's grown a lot."

"M'm," Ginny replied, and she looked so exhausted that Harry felt his heart turn over. He carried on the best he could, but his repertoire of small talk was limited and it was a bit of a strain. Quidditch was quickly exhausted because he hadn't been able to stay up to date in the Balkans, so he mentioned some of the interesting sights he'd seen there, and touched on Horvath's propensity for mangling Muggle slang. Ginny's labor pains, however, kept causing Harry to lose the conversational thread. He found himself babbling on about the weather, and was on the verge of reciting the twelve uses for dragon's blood just to keep the conversation alive, when Ginny said, "Tell me about your dream."

"What dream?" Harry said blankly.

"You said you had a dream about me. Tell me about it."

"Oh," said Harry. "Well, it wasn't _just_ about you. My parents were in it. And the baby too, sort of. It's kind of hard to explain."

"Try," said Ginny.

Harry's brow creased as he tried to recall the details of his dream. "At first we were all together. You, my parents, and me, that is. Then you went somewhere with my mum, and my dad stayed behind to talk to me. He. . . Well, he talked about the baby. He said. . . Uh oh. Is that another one?"

Ginny nodded as pain knifed through her. She groaned and clung to Harry. After what seemed like hours, but was probably closer to a minute, the pain retreated, leaving her shaken but relieved. She finally released her death grip on Harry's hand.

"That was a strong one," Harry said, surreptitiously flexing his fingers to ensure none were broken.

"Yes, it was," Ginny agreed. "Well, go on. What did he say about the baby?"

"I don't remember all of it," Harry said. "But there was something about a test. No, wait, it was actually three tests, and I. . . I think it has something to do with a legend."

"Legend?" said Ginny. "What legend?"

"It was something I heard at a meeting in Kosovo. Apparently there's some ancient legend about a Chosen One who's supposed to bring wizards and Muggles together."

Ginny frowned as a strand of memory wove itself into her imagination, but dangled tantalizingly out of reach. "A 'Chosen One?'"

"I know," said Harry. "Bit silly, isn't it? But I know why I must have dreamed about it. All that 'Chosen One' stuff reminded me of the Prophecy. My mum was pregnant with me when. . . Well, anyhow, now we're having a baby, so I probably just. . ."

He broke off as another contraction crashed down on Ginny, and this one threatened to cleave her in two. "I've changed my mind," she gasped. "Let's call the whole thing off."

"Sweetheart, we've been over this. It's too late to back out now."

"But it's not _fair_," Ginny said. "_You_ could leave all this behind if you wanted to. Why can't I?"

"Well, for one thing, I don't want to leave. And for another, that's just the way it is."

The pain receded at last, and Ginny drew a shaky breath as rational thought returned. "Harry?"

"Yes, love?"

"I think we had the same dream."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ginny managed to describe her dream before the next pains hit. There wasn't a lot to tell because most of it had already evaporated in the light of day and the harshness of labor. In fact, it was more of a feeling now than an actual memory. There had been something about Snape. Ginny remembered that much. And there had been a river in it somewhere, or at least she thought there had been. And Harry's mum had talked about a Chosen One. Ginny was certain of that. But everything else was hazy, enveloped in a thick, white fog, like something glimpsed through a veil, long ago and far away. Harry looked pensive as Ginny shared the bits and pieces she recalled, but she could practically see the wheels turning in his head. She was about to ask what he was thinking when another knife-like contraction speared her and the universe narrowed to that white-hot shard of pain.

Healer Giatros came bustling in, snapping on a pair of gloves for an examination. Harry stepped out to give Ginny a bit of privacy, but also to give himself a chance to stretch his legs and take a few deep breaths. He decided to stroll down to the Relatives Room to give the Weasleys a quick update, but when he arrived the room appeared all but deserted. Above a high-backed sofa, Harry caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair. Hermione's back was to him and a familiar albeit disembodied voice was saying: ". . . and you'll be in Gryffindor because your mum and me were both Gryffindors. Well, pretty much your whole family has been, so you're sure to be one, too."

"Now, Daddy," Harry heard Hermione say, "Mummy was almost sorted into Ravenclaw, remember?"

"Ravenclaw would be okay," Ron acknowledged. "But not Slytherin. Sorry, little one, but we'd have to disown you if you ended up in Slytherin."

Another step into the room showed Ron kneeling in front of Hermione and he was. . . Yes, he was! His hands were on either side of Hermione's belly and he was addressing it with an expression somewhere between sheepish and sentimental. Harry tried to choke back a laugh, but failed. Ron heard him and scrambled to his feet, his ears going crimson. Hermione twisted round as rapidly as her bulk would allow, but looked more alarmed than self-conscious. "Harry! Is Ginny all right?"

"The healer is with her," Harry replied as a grin spread across his face. "Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?"

"Ron was just talking to the baby," Hermione explained.

"Is _that_ what he was doing?" said Harry, arching a brow at Ron who stared determinedly at the floor.

"It's supposed to enhance brain development," Ron mumbled. "Hermione read something in a book. . ."

"Of course she did," said Harry, still grinning.

"Babies can hear a surprising amount in the womb," Hermione said, having apparently decided to ignore Ron's discomfort and Harry's amusement. "We've been playing music too. Mostly classical selections, of course, a little Mozart, a bit of Bach. Ron holds the headphones right over my. . ."

"How's Ginny?" asked Ron, clearly eager to change the subject.

"The pains are getting really close," Harry said. "I don't think it'll be much longer."

"And the baby?" Hermione said. "Do they have any idea. . .?"

"Not yet," said Harry. "I don't think we'll know until. . . Well, afterward. Where is everyone?"

"They all went down to the Tea Shop," said Ron. "Mum's been going spare. It was all we could do to keep her from charging in there to check up on you and Ginny. They thought a change of scene and some food might settle her down. Hermione and I offered to stay here in case. . . Well, there was any news."

"And so you could converse with Hermione's. . . that is, the baby," Harry concluded.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Hey, mate, I don't stand in judgment. What a husband and wife do in private. . ."

"Very funny," Ron said. "And if you ever say anything about this to George, I'll. . ."

Just what Ron would do remained a mystery, because Healer Giatros appeared in the doorway just then and gestured for Harry to step into the hall. "Your wife is almost completely dilated, Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "We'll be moving her to the delivery room in matter of minutes. I'm a bit concerned about the fetal heart rate, so I've asked a pediatric healer to stand by during delivery."

Harry nodded. "Is Ginny. . . Will she. . .?" He broke off, unable to complete the thought.

"The bleeding appears to be under control," Healer Giatros said. "Of course there's a chance of hemorrhage with the placenta lying so low, but it's really the child I'm most concerned about now. The sooner we get this baby safely delivered, the better it'll be for everyone."

The healer strode away to complete arrangements, and Harry blew out a long breath. Ron and Hermione came out into the hall and were regarding him expectantly. "I guess this is it," he said with an unconvincing smile. "They're moving her to the delivery room. James will have a little brother or sister soon."

He tried to sound confident, even happy, but his trepidation must have shown through because Ron gave him a quick one-armed hug. "Good luck, mate. We're here for you. For both of you. Well, all of you, really."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Give Ginny our love," Hermione said. "I'm sure it'll be all right, Harry. Just. . . just think positively, okay?"

"I'll try," said Harry, and turned away from Ron and Hermione to go back to Ginny.

* * *

As births went, it was relatively easy. Ginny had just been ordered to start pushing when things began to shift very rapidly. It seemed only seconds before Healer Giatros was saying, "It's a boy." But it wasn't the triumphant announcement it had been with James, and there were no welcoming infant cries, only a burst of activity as the umbilical cord was severed. Ginny barely had a glimpse of a wrinkled, shockingly blue face before a tiny oxygen mask was placed over it. Then the pediatric healer quickly wrapped the little blue thing in a thick towel and rushed him from the room.

Harry and Ginny stared at the double doors to the delivery room, still swinging back and forth on their hinges. Harry looked as though he was not quite sure what had just happened, but Ginny lifted her head to peer at Healer Giatros, who was still focused on her nether regions. "Is the baby all right?"

"He's alive," Healer Giatros assured her. "We'll know more after they've had a chance to assess him. Now then, Mrs. Potter, just one more good push for the afterbirth, I think."

When James was born, Harry and Ginny had a happy, quiet moment with him before he was whisked away to be cleaned, weighed, and swaddled. Harry then carried their new son to the Relatives Room to introduce him to his family while Ginny was transferred to a hospital room already festooned with congratulatory flowers. Ginny had nursed little James within hours of his birth, laughing at his already prodigious appetite and marveling at the surprising strength of the little mouth tugging at her breast. But there was no atmosphere of celebration with this birth, no laughter, no happy, quiet moments, and everyone who came to see Ginny wore mourning faces. They came in groups of two or three, her brothers and their wives, her parents, and close friends. Neville, Luna, Andromeda, and even Hagrid stopped by, but all looked as if they'd just come from a funeral. Harry slipped away several times to check on the baby's progress, but all anyone could tell them was that their son was 'holding his own.' Ginny knew there was something they were not being told, but before she had a chance to work up any indignation over it, Healer Giatros gave her a sleeping potion and she drifted away on a fluffy white cloud where neither dreams nor sorrow existed.

When she awoke, Harry was nowhere in sight, but her mother sat in a chair near the bed. Outside the window, night had fallen. She had apparently slept through most of the day.

"Hello, dear!" said Molly, when she saw that Ginny was awake. "You had a good long sleep. Are you hungry? I brought chicken pie. What they dare to call food in this place. . ."

"Where's Harry?" Ginny asked, still groggy from the potion.

"He stepped out for a minute," Molly said, then rushed on before Ginny could form another question. "Your brothers and sisters-in-law finally went home. They were here all day and most of last night, so everyone was exhausted, but they'll be by to see you tomorrow, I expect. Your father is at the Burrow with James. We're taking it in shifts, so one of us can be here with you and Harry. Oh, James did the cutest thing earlier today, Ginny. You wouldn't believe. . . ."

"Where's the baby?" Ginny interrupted. "Why haven't they brought him to me?"

"He's in the intensive care nursery, dear. He'll have to stay there until he gains a bit of weight."

"Is he all right?" Ginny said.

Molly's eyes glistened. "He. . . he's holding his own."

"And what does that mean?"

"He's very small, Ginny. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen such a tiny baby. But, you know, he is a bit bigger than the healers estimated. He actually weighs close to a thousand grams, so that's. . ."

A thousand grams, Ginny thought, shutting out the sound of her mother's voice. That was a little over two pounds. James had weighed nearly eight pounds at birth, and he had seemed very small to her then. She could not imagine a baby less than one-third that size.

"I have to see him," Ginny said, interrupting Molly's monologue. "I have to go to him."

"You're to stay in bed, Ginny. It's healer's orders. You lost a lot of blood earlier, and. . ."

"I want to see my baby, Mum! I have a _right_ to see him. I'm his mother. He needs me!"

"Ginny," said Molly, "it would only upset you."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with him? Is he deformed, or. . ."

"No, no, of course not. It's just. . . Well, why don't you wait until Harry gets back? He's certain to have news and then you can . . ."

"News about what?" asked Ginny. "Mum, what's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

Molly hesitated, but seeing that Ginny was not to be put off, she plunged ahead. "There's something wrong with his blood. I'm not too clear about it, but they say. . . They say it's poisoning him."

Ginny's voice sounded as though it was coming from a long distance away. "He's being poisoned by his own _blood_?"

"Yes," Molly said sadly. "Apparently it's quite rare. Only wizard babies get this condition, but they're using some Muggle remedy for it. It's called a. . . a. . . transference? No, a transfusion. Yes, I think that's what they said."

"A transfusion?" said Ginny. "What's that?"

"Well, as I say, I'm not too clear about everything, but the way I understand it, they have to remove the bad blood and replace it with good blood. Blood from someone else, that is. And it has to match. It has to be the same type. That's where Harry is right now. He's giving the baby some of his blood."

"Harry is. . . He's giving our baby his blood?"

"Why, yes. His blood matched, you see, so they're taking some from him and using it to replace the blood they're taking from the baby. They say he'll never miss it. Apparently people make new blood all the time, and the baby doesn't need much, the poor little. . ."

"Will it cure him?" Ginny asked. "Will Harry's blood make it all right?"

"There aren't any guarantees," said Molly. "The healers said the next few days are crucial. If he can survive the next forty-eight hours or so. . . But they seemed to think there was a good chance it would work. We must hope for the best."

Ginny's mind floated away as the strand of memory that had dangled before her earlier thickened into a rope. It had something to do with her dream, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. _He came from love, _came a distant echo._ Only love_ _can set him free. _Where on earth did _that_ come from? And what could it possibly mean?

"I want to see him, Mum," Ginny said. "I want to go to him."

"Out of the question," Molly said firmly. "You're not well enough."

"I don't care," said Ginny. "I'm going!"

"You're not going anywhere," Molly replied. "If you think I'm going to allow. . . Dear, get back into bed. You heard me, young lady! Just where do you think you're. . . Put those carpet slippers down, Ginny. Put them down, I say! And that dressing gown, too! Ginevra, you are _not_ traipsing round this hospital in your. . . Oh, for heaven's _sake_! Will you at least wait until I can find someone to take you in a wheel chair? I swear you children all take after your father. You certainly didn't get that stubborn streak from _me_!"

* * *

Ilythia Giatros took Ginny to the nursery herself. "Before we go in, Mrs. Potter," she said as they reached a door marked _Neonatal Intensive Care_, "there are a few things I want you to understand."

"I know already," Ginny replied, impatient with everyone's mollycoddling. "I know he's small."

"It's not only that," Healer Giatros said. "Prem babies lack the body fat deposits that occur later in pregnancy, and the skin tends to be. . . Well, some mothers are startled by their appearance. I just want you to be prepared. All right?"

Ginny kept her face impassive, but a sense of dread came over her. "Where is my husband?"

"He's in there now," Healer Giatros. "They're just completing the transfusion. They may have to do more, but they've nearly finished this round."

Ginny nodded, and the healer wheeled her into the nursery. The first thing she saw was Harry, who sat in an armchair holding a square of gauze over his arm. There was a glass of iced pumpkin juice beside him, and he looked rather pale.

"Ginny!" said Harry, obviously surprised to see her. He attempted to stand, but a green-robed healer pushed him back into the chair.

"Oh no, you don't, Mr. Potter," the healer said. "You're to stay off your feet for another half hour. We don't want you passing out in the corridor."

Ginny noticed another healer who was hanging a plastic bag filled with a red substance next to a transparent box where a very tiny baby appeared to float in mid-air. A second glance showed the box to be an incubator, a womb-like environment where he could be constantly monitored. There were several tubes and wires attached to the baby. One ran into his nose, one was stuck to his chest, and another protruded from an exposed stump of umbilical cord. Into this one, Ginny realized, blood was being infused.

Ginny looked around. There were other babies in residence, but all were very small, a miniature world inhabited by tiny, fragile beings. Several green-robed healers milled about, making notes on clipboards as a series of numbers flashed on a screen. One of the healers waved a wand over an incubator, producing a series of slow, soft beeps. Healer Giatros explained that the incubators were heated to maintain body temperature, and sensors monitored the babies' vital signs.

Healer Giatros wheeled Ginny up to the incubator nearest Harry, and she gazed for the first time at her second son. He seemed scarcely bigger than her hand, but it wasn't his size that surprised her so much as the stick-like limbs and translucent skin through which veins and arteries were clearly visible. Even having been warned, a wave of shock rolled through her. It was like looking inside her own womb. Rice paper skin over bone. Wizened, monkey face. Frail, virtually hairless body, like a featherless baby bird fallen from its nest. Now he must fight to survive, but he was too small, too weak, too helpless to fight alone.

But as Ginny watched, he stirred. The little chest moved slowly up and down. Tiny fingers, no bigger than pins, stretched. One hand open, palm up, the other gently fisted. The open hand moved in a slow, ritual motion, as though conjuring a spell. The paper-thin eyelids fluttered open, and Ginny's heart leapt. A soul lived within that fragile shell and she could see it shining through. Blue they were, like the eyes of most newborns, but they would change soon and there was a definite greenish cast. They would be green, Ginny thought, and they were distinctly almond shaped. Harry's eyes. Lily's eyes.

It was at least a minute before Ginny realized she was holding her breath. She felt Harry's hand close over hers and she looked at him, seeing him reach under his glasses to wipe away a tear.

"That's the first time," he whispered. "He's hardly moved and I thought. . . I thought he had already . . ."

Healer Giatros smiled, and pointed to the plastic bag suspended above them. "Your blood, Mr. Potter," she said. "You can see what a difference it's already made, can't you?"

"Will it heal him?" Ginny asked. "Will Harry's blood. . . Will it cure our baby?"

One of the green-robed healers had broken away from the others, and now stepped forward. "This is Raphael Galen," said Healer Giatros, introducing a tall, thin wizard in rumpled robes. "He's our chief pediatric healer."

"Mrs. Potter," Healer Galen said, shaking Ginny's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Healer Galen," said Ginny, "will our son live?"

"We'll do everything we can for him, Mrs. Potter," Galen replied. "Premature babies have a lot of problems, but you may rest assured that your child will receive the best possible care."

Ginny realized that Galen would not make any promises, but that was the way healers were. They always seemed to cover all their bets. "May I hold him?" she asked.

"Of course," said Galen. "But only for a moment. Such tiny babies can't cope with too much stimulation. Once he's gained a bit of weight, then you can feed him and participate in his care. It will be good for him then. Good for both of you, I dare say."

Being careful not to detach any of the tubes or wires, Galen reached into the incubator and extracted the little bundle, swaddling him warmly before placing him in the crook of his mother's arm. He was so tiny, Ginny thought. His hands were the length of her fingernails. His head was smaller than her fist. He opened his eyes again, and Ginny felt a thrill of recognition.

"His name is Albus," she said quietly, not taking her eyes from him. "Albus Severus."

Harry looked startled. "Ginny?"

"I'm sure," said Ginny, smiling. "If you are."

"Of course I am, but. . . What changed your mind?"

Ginny did not know how to explain, but it had something to do with those eyes. The eyes Snape had fought for. The eyes he died for. And the Patronus, the doe that Snape shared with Lily, and that Ginny shared with them both. It was right, she knew that now. She wasn't sure how or why she knew, but it suddenly seemed very, very right.

"Albus," said Healer Galen. "Very good, Mrs. Potter. We'll start calling him that."

Ginny did not look up, but continued staring at her son. Without warning, five perfectly formed fingers curled themselves round her thumb, and still she gazed into the tiny, wrinkled face. She was his mother. He was her child. And he would live.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Thanks so much for all your Patronuses! They helped me keep the Dementors at bay, and as a special Mother's Day treat, I'm sending my Patronus (a Rocky Mountain Redtail Hawk) to visit all of you, do but please send it flying back to me once it's cheered you up a bit. My dad is doing VERY well, walking with a cane now and no more scary, life-threatening episodes (knock wood!), so thanks again for all your prayers and good wishes. _

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**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers:** Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewersfor your thoughtful comments: **Emily, Tejana, Amy, Clio, noviwanwife, Jessica, celestina, Mrs.H, Lulu, THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT, Leira, Christina, teenspy, Willa, h, AnkokuSama, jessica, and gwicky**. Answers to specific questions are included below.

**Christina: **The echo Ginny heard was Lily. Lily was 'fading' so her voice sounded like an echo.

**AnkokuSama:** Same as above. It was Lily.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT:** I don't know whether there will be a sequel or not. I haven't decided yet. I'm planning to take a few months off this summer to work on other things, but we'll see where my Muse takes me after that.


	25. Chapter 25: All Through the Night

**_A/N:_** I've spent the past few weeks going over and over this chapter which sent me down many long, winding and ultimately wrong roads before I finally hit on something that seemed to work. Even so, I'm not one hundred percent sure it DOES work, but as always I'll let you decide. Happy belated birthday to Ida (noviwanwife), by the way. Sorry I didn't get this posted in time to offer it as a true birthday greeting, but better late than never.

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**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_All Through the Night_

Ginny was released from St. Mungo's just two days after the birth, but continued to spend most of her time there. She even slept at the hospital for the first few weeks, terrified of what might happen in her absence, though it tore her heart out to be away from James. Children weren't permitted in the neonatal unit because of the danger of infection, so Ginny had to be make do with scattered, stolen moments with her older son. He was hardly neglected, as Molly and Arthur had moved into Grimmauld Place to look after him, and there were a plethora of aunts and uncles ready to lavish him with love and affection. But he cried so bitterly each time his mother left that Ginny usually returned to St. Mungo's with tears in her own eyes. Her mother insisted that James was going through a phase. All children went through clingy stages, Molly said, but Ginny was not reassured. James had already been deprived of his father for several months, and now Mummy was absent as well. Poor baby, no wonder he was confused! But James was big and healthy, and Albus was tiny and fragile. Ginny had to make a choice, but it tore her heart out just the same.

In the NICU, life was a roller coaster. One day they were up, the next they were down. Time seemed to drag, but also flew. On Monday the healers reported that Albus had gained two whole ounces. Ginny dreamed of plump cheeks, dimpled arms, and fat little fists waving in the air. But on Wednesday, he stopped breathing. On Thursday he became jaundiced. On Friday he ran a slight fever, and on Saturday he developed a reflux that wouldn't allow him to keep anything down. His anxious parents watched and waited, and the family gathered to offer support. Then on Sunday he rallied and began taking milk again, and suddenly it was Monday once more.

It could have been worse. That was one advantage to spending so much time in the NICU, though it was scant comfort to see other babies in even worse condition. Albus was only moderately premature and his problems were, for the most part, manageable. The same could not be said of one tiny girl who weighed just six hundred grams, and had been born with a heart defect that had, so far, mystified the healers. Her skin was so thin that it was apt to tear if anyone touched her, and she was on a ventilator so her anxious mother, a plump, pretty witch with short blonde hair, did not even have the comfort of holding her. Instead she spent hours staring at the incubator and developed a habit of biting her knuckles during moments of crisis, which were frequent. When Ginny first spoke to her, nearly four weeks after Albus's precipitous entry into the world, the backs of the young mother's hands reminded her of Bill's face after his attack by Fenrir Greyback.

"Your first?" Ginny asked kindly, after they had exchanged silent smiles for several days.

"Yes," the blonde witch replied. "You?"

"My second," Ginny replied. "We have another little boy, just fifteen months old. We didn't expect to have another child quite so soon, but. . ." She spread her hands helplessly. "These things happen."

"I didn't think it ever would for me," the other woman said wistfully. "We tried for years, went through testing, fertility treatments, the lot. We were so excited when we learned it had finally happened. I was careful, too, right from the start. I was so careful. I just don't understand it." She sighed. "The healers say they don't know why Abeona was born so early. But there has to be a reason because everything has to be for a reason. At least I always thought so."

"Not always," Ginny said, thinking of all the violent, senseless deaths she had witnessed. "I'm Ginny, by the way. Ginny Potter."

"Yes, I know," the blonde witch said shyly. "I recognized you and your husband from photos in the _Daily_ _Prophet_. I'm Meghan Deverill."

Ginny tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions, which ranged from, "What's Harry Potter _really_ like?" to "How does it feel to be the Chosen One's chosen one?" Ginny had long since come to terms with the celebrity that resulted from marrying the most famous wizard in Britain, but had never really stopped resenting the loss of privacy that went along with it. But the blonde witch asked no questions, and after a minute Ginny said, "You wouldn't be any relation to Philbert Deverill, would you? He's the manager of. . ."

"Puddlemere United," said Meghan. "He's my father-in-law."

"Oh!" said Ginny, brightening, for here she was on familiar ground. Phil Deverill had tried to lure her away from the Harpies to fly for his own team, but she had turned him down. She'd always liked him, though, and had interviewed him several times for her column. "You married Phil's son, then?"

"Yes. My husband, Geoff, is a buyer for Quality Quidditch Supplies. You may have seen him here a few days ago. Tall man, rather thin, with light brown hair."

"Of course," said Ginny, recalling the shy young wizard she had spotted soon after the tiny girl was brought to the NICU.

"Your husband is usually with you, isn't he?" Meghan said. "I think this is the first time I've ever seen you without him."

"He had a, er, business meeting," said Ginny. Harry had been with her every single day since Albus's birth, for after his duty in the Balkans he reckoned he was due a bit of a holiday. Today, however, he was meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt regarding testimony in the upcoming trial of Augustus Rookwood. Hermione had taken a great interest in the case, and had written an _Amicus Curiae_ brief that impressed the Ministry's chief prosecutor. According to Harry, it had practically guaranteed her a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement once she passed the wizarding bar, but this would have to wait, as her pregnancy had by now reached a stage where it was difficult for her to get out of a chair, let alone sit a series of mind-numbing legal exams.

"Geoff's job takes him abroad a good deal," Meghan continued in the same wistful tone. "He hates being away so much, with the baby so ill. It's hard sometimes."

"I'm sure it is," Ginny said, making a private vow to check in with this lonely young woman from time to time.

Meghan Deverill continued to sit alone beside her baby's incubator, but Ginny spoke to her often during the long days and nights of watchful waiting. The quiet young husband appeared periodically, and once Ginny caught a glimpse of Phil Deverill and his wife, but Meghan seemed to have no family of her own. Ginny couldn't imagine trying to cope without the support of her husband and family. As it was, there were times when she barely coped _with_ them.

Ginny spent a lot of time holding Albus next to her skin, trying to coax him to take just a little more milk, or gently rocking him in one of the many rocking chairs the nursery provided. But she quickly grew tired of the drama and heartache, the worry and waiting, and sometimes she just wished it could all be over. These thoughts always horrified her, and Ginny wondered what sort of monster mother she was to be thinking that way. A helpless baby fought for his life, and all she could think was how tired _she _was? She couldn't help it, though. She was tired of days that ran together, tired of mornings that blurred into afternoons, and sick to death of afternoons that blended into evenings before the whole process began all over again the very next day.

In the early days Albus was too weak to suckle, so Ginny pumped her breasts every couple of hours and watched as the milk was administered through a tube in the baby's nose. Eventually he was able to nurse, but it wore him out so much that he would fall asleep after just a few minutes. It was a nearly endless process that left everyone exhausted, and Ginny's nerves were worn nearly raw. She didn't know how she would have managed without Harry's support, and he did his own share of holding, coaxing, rocking, and worrying. More than once he was called upon to give even more blood to replace the toxins in his son's tiny veins, and it struck Ginny as ironic that once his blood had been forcefully taken because of one man's greed and arrogance. Now it was freely offered out of love. Was that the reason Albus overcame so many obstacles? Had some of Lily's protection passed through Harry's blood? Whatever the cause, both parents gave of themselves, milk and blood alike, and together they watched their child grow strong.

Little by little, inch by painful inch, Albus grew. At first he would gain a few ounces only to lose them again when the next crisis hit, but soon he began to grow at a steady pace and the parents dared allow themselves to hope. One day the healers announced that he weighed three pounds. Ginny realized that his skin was no longer transparent, and a tuft of black hair clung to the small skull. She began sleeping at home so she could spend more time with James, though only after leaving enough expressed milk to last Albus through the night. By the sixth week he weighed nearly four pounds, some of the tubes and wires began to disappear, and the greenish tint in his eyes became even more pronounced.

Ginny commented on this one morning after she and Harry had both had a good night's sleep and enjoyed the novelty of breakfasting with James, during which they'd tried teaching him his baby brother's name, though so far the best he could produce was "_Ow-butt_."

"He's got your eyes, you know," she said, when they had Apparated to St. Mungo's and were making their way toward the NICU. "In fact, I think Albus is going to look just like you."

"Poor kid," Harry replied. "He'll have no luck with girls."

Ginny stopped in mid-stride. "I beg your pardon? Didn't you have amazing luck with girls?"

"Well, there was Cho Chang. . ."

Ginny punched him in the arm. "Do you have a death wish? I was talking about _me_, you prat!" She tried to hit him again, but he captured her hands and grinned down at her. The teasing glint in his eyes caused her mouth to twist in wry amusement. But in a moment her laugher turned to sighs.

"He _is_ better, isn't he?" she asked. "Isn't he?"

"Of course he is," Harry assured her. "Didn't the healers say we might be able to take him home soon?"

"What if he stops breathing again? He's had three episodes this week alone."

"They have monitors we can use at home," Harry reminded her. "And they wouldn't release him if they weren't sure. It'll be all right, love. The worst is behind us now. I really believe that."

He was a rock, Ginny decided. A solid, dependable, lovable rock, and he had such a nice face. It was a husband's face, fond, familiar, and deeply beloved. "Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?"

"You might have. But feel free to tell me again, if you like."

"You're wonderful," Ginny said obligingly. "I love you so much, Harry."

"You're pretty wonderful yourself," said Harry. "And I love you, too."

They strolled into the NICU hand-in-hand, but their smiles faded when they saw the subdued faces of the healers. A few had reddened eyes, as though they'd been crying. A quick glance showed that little Abeona's incubator was empty.

Ginny felt a dreadful, sinking sensation. "The Deverill baby?"

Healer Galen looked up. "It was that heart anomaly, I'm afraid. We did our best, but. . ." He shook his head sadly.

"When?" asked Harry, who had grown equally fond of Meghan and her small, scrappy daughter.

"Last night," Galen replied. "Just after midnight."

"Was she alone?" Ginny asked desperately. "Mrs. Deverill? Was she by herself when. . . when it happened?"

"Her husband arrived just in time. They were together at the end."

"Thank God for that," murmured Harry, who looked nearly as stricken as Ginny felt.

"I should have been here," Ginny whispered. "I should have been with her!"

"You had no way of knowing," said Harry.

"I know, but. . . Oh, Harry!"

Harry put his arms around her, and Ginny closed her eyes, too devastated to cry, but too stunned to speak. Meghan's anxious, hopeful face swam before her. The baby girl had overcome so much. She had seemed to be getting stronger, too. What had happened? Why had it happened? _"There has to be a reason because everything has to be for a reason."_ But what reason was there? What justification could there be for something like this?

Ginny turned away from the sight of that empty incubator. "I have to get out of here."

"Of course," said Harry. "I understand. Why don't you go for a walk? I'll go with you."

"No," Ginny said. "One of us. . . One of us should stay with Albus."

Harry eyed her with concern. "Shall I send for someone? Your mum, perhaps?"

"No," Ginny said. "I'll. . . I'll just pump first so you can feed Albus when he wakes up."

Ginny walked the streets outside St. Mungo's in a fog of misery. She kept her head down, staring at the pavement beneath her feet, her footsteps pounding in time to the beat of her own heart, and she thought: It happens sometimes that you can hear your own heart beat and are reminded that someday it will stop. That amazing little pump begins to pulsate just hours after conception and works on tirelessly, never ceasing save for the occasional flutter or pause, until the day comes when, through accident or illness, it stops altogether. Fred's heart had stopped. Her brother's heart, and the hearts of so many others, no longer beat. Someday the same thing would happen to everyone else she loved, because to love anyone was to risk loss. And what was it all about, what was any of it for, if birth was just the first step toward dying?

Ginny caught sight of herself in a shop window. She scarcely recognized the chalk-white, hollow-cheeked stranger that stared back at her. It had been weeks since she'd looked properly at a mirror, and had not realized how darkly shadowed her eyes were, nor how bizarrely dressed she was. Unable to fit into her pre-pregnancy clothes as yet, she wore a pair of Harry's jeans with the cuffs turned up, and pulled on an old jumper, shoving her feet into a pair of manky old trainers to complete the ensemble. She had been too rushed and worried to care about her appearance, but now her reflection nearly pushed her over the edge into a storm of weeping. She turned away just in time. Tears never solved anything. They only made it worse.

Ginny sank onto the curb, oblivious of the stares of passing Muggles who no doubt thought her a lunatic. She didn't care. It was hard to care about anything. It made no sense. Abeona had been getting _better_. Everyone said so, but they'd said the same thing about Albus, hadn't they? Could she believe them? Did she dare believe them? That was the thing about hope. It hurt all the more when the hoped for object was yanked away. Hope was cruel, Ginny decided. Hope was dangerous. Hope could kill.

But Ginny _had_ to believe Albus was better. She couldn't bear not to. Abeona had been born at just twenty-six weeks gestation, and she had that heart defect besides. But Albus still had those three great tests to pass, and what was the point of pulling him through all this if even greater dangers awaited him? Random threads of dreams kept coming back to her: _Special destiny_ . . _spirit of a great master. . . birth symbolizes struggles he must face later in life. _And Ginny wanted to scream at the injustice because it wasn't fair, it wasn't right! Why her child? Why _their_ child? Hadn't they sacrificed enough? Hadn't they already paid sufficient homage to the greedy gods of the Greater Good? But Ginny hadn't not yet paid the ultimate price. Not the way Meghan, Andromeda, or her own mother had, for she had not lost a child. Would that sacrifice be demanded of her one day? Would that be the final cost of Harry's own survival?

A shadow loomed and a voice said, "Ginny?"

"Hermione!" Ginny's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did Harry send for you?"

"No, I haven't seen Harry. I have an appointment with Healer Giatros this morning, and I saw you sitting here. How are you?"

"Fine," Ginny replied dully.

Hermione regarded her. "Is anything wrong?"

Ginny decided against telling her. Hermione was about to have a baby of her own. She didn't need to hear something like that. Besides, Ginny didn't want to talk about it. She couldn't without bursting into tears.

"It's nothing," she said. "I'm just feeling a little down is all."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Post-partum depression?"

"No!" Ginny said. "It's nothing like that, it's. . . Didn't you say you had an appointment?"

"I have plenty of time. I'm actually quite early. Feel like walking? There's a park a few blocks away. Maybe we can find a bench. I'd sit on the curb, but I have a feeling I'd never get up again."

The day was overcast with a brisk wind blowing. Buds had begun to appear on the trees, but as yet there was little color to break up the monotony. Ginny recalled a poem her mother had forced her to memorize as a child, which began: _April is the cruelest month_. Miserable time of year, she thought. Rainy, foggy, wet, dismal. Maybe she could go back to bed and not get up again until May.

The two women found an unoccupied bench and sat down, watching shoppers and office workers rush past. Where were they all going, and why the hell were Muggles always in such a hurry?

"How's Albus?" Hermione asked.

"The healers told us we might be able to bring him home soon. Perhaps as early as next week."

"That's wonderful."

"Yes," Ginny said. "Isn't it?"

"Ginny," Hermione said quietly, "you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But if you need a shoulder to cry on, this blouse is drip dry."

Ginny opened her mouth to repeat her assertion that nothing was wrong, but to her surprise the news about Meghan's baby came tumbling out and by the time she had finished telling Hermione her cheeks were wet with tears.

Hermione's own eyes were moist. "Oh, Ginny, how awful! No wonder you're upset."

"It isn't only that," Ginny said. "It's. . . it's Albus, too."

"Why? What's wrong with Albus?"

"Nothing. Yet." And she told Hermione everything she could recall of her last dream, including the legend of the Chosen One, but leaving out the two companions who would accompany him on his journey, one of whom _"shares a bond of blood. . . Conceived, as he was, in a place of love and magic."_ Ginny felt this would be too much to lay on Hermione so close to her delivery date. The decision proved sound, for by the time she had finished, Hermione was a bit pale.

"I shouldn't have told you," Ginny said. "You have enough on your mind, with your baby due so soon. I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have. . ."

"I'm not that fragile," Hermione interrupted. "I only wish you'd told me sooner. I hate to think of you walking round with this bottled up inside you all this time."

"It hasn't been bottled up," Ginny said. "I've talked to Harry, but we've been so focused on the baby and . . . Well, I know it's only a dream, but it wasn't just one dream, Hermione. It was a series of dreams, all of which have proven incredibly prescient. And Harry heard about this legend in the Balkans. Don't you think there's reason to worry?"

Hermione said, "I'm reminded of a quote I once heard by a writer who said, 'I've seen a lot of trouble in my life, most of which never happened.'"

"What if it does happen? What if it's all true?"

"Then we'll deal with it," said Hermione, "when and if we have to, but it'll be all of us, not just you and Harry. We're in it together, Ginny. We always have been and always will be, and believe it or not, I think I understand how you feel. Ever since I've been pregnant the whole world seems more dangerous. There are hazards that I never noticed before, and when I think about all the narrow misses I had with Ron and Harry, I feel so sorry for my parents, not to mention your mum and dad. But we survived. By the skin of our teeth sometimes, but here we still are."

"And what about the ones who aren't here?" Ginny demanded. "Cedric? Colin? My brother?"

"Who could have guessed that Cedric would be killed in the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione said. "Or that a wall would fall on Fred in that corridor? Granted, those were dangerous situations, but Cedric could just as easily not have touched that portkey, and that wall could have fallen on Percy, Harry, Ron, me, or any of the Death Eaters we were fighting. It was random chance, Ginny, or fate, or maybe both. It was nothing that could have been predicted, and there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it."

"You believe in fate?" Ginny said, astonished to hear such words from Hermione's lips. "Since when?"

"All I know is that people can end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place at the right time. Maybe there's no real rhyme or reason to any of it, but I've seen it happen far too often not to believe that destiny, or whatever you want to call it , plays some part. It can't be controlled, any more than you can control the seasons or harness the tides. Trying to control it is like trying to fight a mist with swords. You'll only wear yourself out, and what's the point if whatever you're fighting is going to happen anyway?"

Ginny arched a brow. "That's a rather, er, extemporaneous attitude, isn't it? I thought you always liked to be prepared."

Hermione sighed. "It's probably down to Ron's influence. He's never prepared for anything."

"Oh, dear. What's he done this time?"

"Well, nothing, per se, it's more that. . . All right, you know Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown have that divination shop in Diagon Alley? Apparently they've decided they need larger premises, and they've put in a bid on the shop next door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"That certainly sounds. . . cozy."

"Doesn't it? But you see, it's all down to Ron's lack of prepardness. He intended to bid on that shop, but he held off too long and now it looks like Lavender and Parvati might get it. It just makes me wonder if there wasn't some subconscious motivation on his part. . ."

"Oh, Hermione," said Ginny. "You don't honestly believe that. Ron loves you! And Lavender is such a slag."

"_Was_ a slag," Hermione said sadly. "She's a successful businesswitch now. And he used to fancy her."

"No, he didn't. Not really. He was just trying to make you jealous."

"Well, it worked. And that was then, Ginny. This is now. Just look at me! I'm a blimp!"

"You're pregnant," Ginny pointed out. "With Ron's child, I might add."

"It happens, though. It happens more often than a lot of women realize. It was in one of the books I've been reading. You know that some pregnant women develop insatiable cravings for food? Well, sometimes their husbands develop insatiable cravings for other women."

"Hermione," said Ginny, "you read too much."

"I know," said Hermione, and she looked so crestfallen that Ginny hugged her.

"Listen," Ginny said, "you've nothing to worry about with Ron. And much as I hate to whinge and run, I really need to get back. Albus just woke up, and I left Harry with only a few ounces of milk."

"How do you know he woke up?" Hermione asked.

Ginny indicated the front of her jumper, upon which two wet spots had just appeared. "My milk lets down whenever he starts crying to be fed, even when we're miles apart. Weird, isn't it? Same thing happened with James while I was nursing him."

"Seriously?" Hermione looked impressed. "Is it some sort of spell?"

"Oh no, it's not magic. Mum says it happens to Muggle mums, too. Something to do with the mother-child bond, I think."

The two woman walked back to the hospital together, parting inside as Hermione went to her prenatal appointment and Ginny made her way back to the NICU. She could hear Albus crying even before she entered. In the first few weeks he had barely managed a faint peep. Now he could indulge in a full throated wail, and it was music to his mother's ears.

She opened the door to find Harry sitting in a rocking chair with Albus. His back was to her and he did not notice as she moved up quietly behind them.

"Yes, I know," he was saying. "It's not nearly as good as Mummy, is it? She'll be back soon to top you off, but in the meantime, won't you take just a little more milk from the bottle? No? Well, if you're sure, we'll have a little father-son chat while we wait, shall we?"

Ginny stood very still, smiling fondly. "We had a nice talk with your brother this morning," Harry went on. "You remember James, of course, we've told you all about him. Anyway, he can't quite say your name yet, but by the time you come home I'm sure he'll have it. You'll meet all your cousins soon, too. Have I ever told you about them? There's Victoire, and Romy and Remy – they're twins - and the four P's, as your Uncle George calls them: Prewett, Priscilla, Prescott, and. . . what's the latest one's name? Oh, right. Prudence. Then there's Fred, and in just a few short weeks you'll have a brand new cousin. Aunt Hermione is quite sure it's a girl, and they plan to call her Rose. And we can't forget Teddy. He's sort of an honorary cousin, but he spends a lot of time at our house and I'm sure you'll be great friends. Oh, and you'll be glad to know we finally got your nursery sorted out. It's green and blue, and there's lots of. . ."

"Stuffed animals," Ginny said, leaning over Harry's shoulder to address Albus, whose eyes shifted at the sound of her voice, "and cutouts on the walls that your Gran enchanted to skip, dance, and turn cartwheels. And Grandad found a lovely music box with stars and moons on it, and it plays some Muggle tune I don't know."

"I know it," said Harry. "It's a lullaby."

"Is it?" said Ginny. "Well, sing it for us then."

She was teasing, as he had no voice at all and hated to sing. But to her surprise, Harry cleared his throat and sang in a tuneless monotone:

_Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,_

_All through the night._

_Guardian angels God will send thee, _

_All through the night._

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, _

_Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,_

_I, my loving vigil keeping,_

_All through the night._

"Where did you learn that?" Ginny asked, as Albus's eyelids drooped, either in self-defense or because the song had put him to sleep, she couldn't tell which.

"I don't know," said Harry, looking rather surprised himself . "I'm sure Aunt Petunia never sang it to me, but it seems I must have always known it. Could be my mum, I suppose, but I was only a year old when she died. I couldn't remember that far back, could I?"

Ginny said nothing, but took the baby and sat in a rocking chair to nurse him. He took only a little more milk before falling asleep again, and she held him against her bare skin to rub his back, feeling the warm, sleepy little head flop on her shoulder. How curious that she could feel her child's need even when they were apart. Could he feel her too, and know how much she loved him, and could she keep him safe that way as Harry's mother had? There was no charm that could protect her children from danger, no spell to shield them from all that went bump in the night. But she could do what Lily had done, what Molly had done, and millions of others before them. She would love her children with every beat of her heart and, if necessary, defend them with her last breath.

"Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?" Harry said, smiling at the pretty picture they made.

"You might have," said Ginny, smiling back. "But feel free to tell me again, if you like."

* * *

_**A/N:**_There are two more chapters to go (I think!) which will include the birth of Rose and an Epilogue. A few points of clarification: NICU, for those of you who don't know, stands for Neonatal Intensive Care Unit; Abeona was a Roman goddesswho watched over children;_Amicus Curiae _means 'friend of the court,'and is a type of legal brief generally filed by someone who is not directly involved in a case; the poem Ginny recalls in this chapter (_"April is the cruelest month"_) is _The Waste Land_ by T.S. Eliot; and the writer Hermione quotes is Mark Twain. Also, it is quite true that a mother's milk "lets down" when her baby cries to be fed, even sometimes when they're miles apart. It happened to me when my son was a baby, and there's nothing magical about it unless, as Dumbledore might say, it has to do with the magic of love.

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers:** Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewersfor your thoughtful comments: **Celestina, Clio, Jenn, Jessica, ChickenChild, Willa, RowlingonaRiver, Christina, noviwanwife, Imogen, joy, Sidney, Mrs.H, coolblue110, Allie, Theresajean, kar33m, Orphelia, Raging Tomato, **and** Jessica**. Specific responses are included below.

**Celestina: **I don't believe we ever learned what Molly's Patronus was. Something rather domestic, I should think.

**Jenn:** Bless you as well! Thanks for your kind thoughts and good wishes.

**Chicken Child:** No, this is not quite the end. There are still two chapters left.

**Willa:** Yes, I will cover the birth of Rose in the next chapter. Haven't quite decided how I'm going to do that yet, but I'm sure it'll work itself out. And as you can see from this chapter, little Albus is already doing much better.

**RowlingonaRiver:** Yes, Rose's birth is up next. Love your penname, by the way. Very creative!

**Christina:** Most women have a very hard time maintaining normal conversation during labor, but Ginny is a witch and a very powerful one at that, so I reckon she can hold her own in almost any situation. Glad you enjoyed the Mother's Day present.

**Imogen:** Yes, the story is nearing the end, but there are two chapters left to go. Glad I'm converting you to the Harry/Ginny fandom. Rose's birth is coming up next.

**Joy:** I wanted Albus's birth to be special, and I'm glad you thought it was.

**Sidney:** Sorry, all good things must come to an end, but there are still a couple of chapters left before I wrap it up completely. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.

**Coolblue110:** Thanks for the raves!

**Allie:** Some of Jo's post-DH revelations don't make a lot of sense to me, so in the world of fanfics we can do it our way. I try to keep my stories as close as possible to canon, but I do draw the line at some pairings. But then, that's why it's called fiction, right?

**Theresajean:** Yes, I did know that Hemingway committed suicide. I don't care for his stories as a rule, but that quote has always been a favorite of mine.

**Kar33m:** Ron devotees are a tetchy bunch. I do have a lot of respect for Ron (more than his creator, in some instances) and I think I show him as a man of great loyalty, courage, and common sense in my stories. If you read my first fanfic, _The Letter_, you'll see that even more than you do here. In this story, he comes across as a bit more of a comic character, but let me assure you that I love and respect Ron, and would never portray him as an idiot.

**Ophelia:** Another Harry/Ginny convert! Halleluiah! I agree that Jo seemed to have difficulty writing romance. But that's why God created fanfics, right?

**Raging Tomato:** First, welcome to FFN! Second, I'm glad you caught Percy's little statistical analysis. I thought that was pretty typical of him, too.

**Jessica:** No, this is not the end. There are still two more chapters which I will hopefully get written and posted in fairly short order.


	26. Chapter 26: There Be Dragons

_**A/N:**__ This chapter initially grew so long that I briefly considered breaking it into two parts. Instead, I made a deliberate decision to cut it down and **not **wrap everything up. Yes, that's what I said! Before you all start screaming, please read the chapter, then see my closing A/N for an explanation._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_There Be Dragons_

James was very excited to meet his baby brother, about whom he had heard so much from parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. His initial greeting when his mother showed him the blanket-wrapped bundle was a high-pitched squeal of _"_Baby!_"_ which woke said baby and earned James a sharply hissed "Quiet!" from half a dozen adults. Once he learned that he was expected to be gentle, and was not allowed to drag his little brother around by the neck or otherwise abuse him, he seemed to regard Albus as an uninteresting object and thereafter left him strictly alone. He did get better at pronouncing the name, having progressed to _"Ow-bus"_ by the time Albus came home. But even that was a bit of a mouthful for James, who eventually settled on _"Ow."_ The rest of the family quickly took up the mantle, and thus Albus became Al.

Ginny's anxiety did not lessen when Albus came home. If anything it increased and she found herself hovering a good deal more than was probably healthy. Fortunately, the mediwitch who'd been hired to help out during the initial weeks at home assured Ginny that not only were her fears normal, but Albus was actually doing quite well, all things considered. After seven weeks in hospital, he weighed five pounds and had progressed much further than anyone had a right to expect. Ginny had a feeling she would always worry, though she felt better about this when she came upon Harry, bending over the baby's cot one evening and holding a mirror under his nose to make sure the apnea monitor was still working.

Talking relieved some of the pressure that had built up during the nerve-wracking weeks since Albus's birth, as did the resumption of their intimate relationship after Ginny was given a go-ahead at her last post-natal appointment. It wasn't just the release of sexual tension that made everything feel blissfully normal again, but the inexpressible comfort of hands, mouths and entwined limbs erasing months of separation, weeks of heartache, and the nearness of tragedy. Ginny had almost forgotten how wonderful it was to cradle her head on Harry's shoulder, to fall asleep in his arms, and in the mornings secret looks and private smiles carried her through whole days of worrying about Albus and coping with James getting into everything he could poke, prod, smear, smash, throw, or tear into bits.

Harry had gone back to work full-time, but spent nearly every evening at home and weekends were devoted to James, who was showing definite signs of sibling rivalry now that Mummy's attention was often elsewhere. James was quite capable of creating enough mayhem to divert everyone's focus to his own, very important little self, but Harry did a great deal to diffuse the situation by spending extra time with his eldest son, though they managed to create plenty of mayhem together.

It was the sound of shattering glass that brought Ginny to the sitting room one early Saturday afternoon to find two chairs upended, all the sofa cushions on the floor, and a delicate crystal vase that had been a wedding gift from Andromeda Tonks lying in fragments on the hearth. Harry had just pulled his wand out of his pocket and was pointing it at the glittering shards when Ginny shouted, "What in the _hell_ are you doing in here?"

"Oh, hello, love," said Harry, looking sheepish, and with a quickly muttered, _"Reparo"_ the crystalline fragments fused into the form of a vase and leapt back onto the mantle.

"Harry, is it absolutely necessary for you to tear the house apart when you play with James?" Ginny demanded. "Just look at this mess!"

"D'agon, Mummy!" James informed his mother. "Daddy d'agon!"

Ginny paused in her straightening of cushions to lift a brow at Harry. "You're a dragon?"

"Well, yes," said Harry. "It's the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, and James has just captured the golden egg."

Ginny looked at the yellow tennis ball James was clutching, and the corners her mouth twitched. "Do I want to know what you've got planned for the Second Task?"

"Probably not," said Harry. "But don't worry, I'll mop up the bathroom afterwards."

Ginny sighed. "Try not to drown him, all right? And don't make a lot of noise because I just got Albus to sleep."

"We'll be quiet as flobberworms," Harry vowed. "I want him good and tired so he'll take a nice, long nap. Once I get him down, do you think you could spare me a minute or two?"

"Certainly," Ginny said. "What for?"

"Just something I'd like to talk about. Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Well, nothing ominous. I'd like your opinion is all."

"All right," said Ginny, regarding him curiously. "You've certainly piqued my interest."

"All in good time," said Harry, lifting James onto his shoulders. "Come on then, lad, let's go see the merpeople in the bathtub."

Ginny went downstairs to talk to Kreacher about dinner, and was about to go back up when the whoosh of the kitchen fireplace sounded and Hermione appeared, spinning in the flames.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed. "You know you're not supposed to use the Floo this close to your due date! What were you thinking?"

"I couldn't face the Underground," Hermione said with a tragic expression. "Ginny, can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can. But why?"

Hermione took a deep breath and announced dramatically, "I've left Ron!"

"You _what_?" said Ginny.

"I don't want to talk about it. Where shall I put my bag?"

There was another whoosh and Ron staggered out of the fireplace. "I knew it! I _knew_ you'd come here first! Hermione, will you please listen?"

"Leave me alone!" Hermione said. "I've no interest in anything you have to say!"

"If you'd just let me explain. . ."

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Ginny demanded.

"Your brother," Hermione declared in a carrying voice, "is having an affair!"

"I am not!" Ron shouted. "I can't believe you would accuse me!" He turned to Ginny. "I haven't done _anything_, I swear it!"

"I saw you, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "You had your arms around her!"

"It was a hug, a friendly hug! She'd done me a favor. . ."

"I'll just _bet_ she had," Hermione said in a voice oozing with sarcasm.

"Okay," Ginny interrupted, "let's start at the beginning, shall we? Who or what are you talking about?"

Ron and Hermione both started talking at once. Ginny held up her hands for silence. "One at a time, please! Hermione, you go first."

"Thank you," said Hermione. "It all started because I was feeling restless this morning, and I decided to go over to the joke shop to see if _my_ _husband_ was free for lunch." She gave Ron a dark look. "I thought I'd surprise him. Apparently I did, because when I arrived, I saw that. . . that little. . . that. . . that . ."

Hermione couldn't seem to bring herself to say the name. She burst into tears instead and Ron swore loudly. The kitchen door swung open, and Harry appeared, lugging a half-dressed James.

"What's with all the. . ." he demanded. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"You knew, didn't you, Harry?" Hermione sobbed. "You _knew_ he was seeing another woman behind my back!"

"Ron wouldn't do that!" Harry looked at Ron. "Would you?"

"Of course not!" shouted Ron, looking ready to hit something. "Hermione, I haven't been seeing Lavender, either behind your back or in front of it!"

"Lavender?" said Ginny. "Not. . ."

"Lavender Brown!" Hermione spat. "Don't tell me it was nothing, Ron! I know what I saw!"

"You didn't see what you thought you saw! If you'd calm down for a minute. . ."

"I saw what I saw, and if you can't see that, I feel sorry for you!"

"I. . ." Ron's mouth opened and closed several times. "I don't even know what the hell we're talking about any more!"

"Hermione," Harry attempted, "You can't believe Ron would. . ."

"Oh, I _knew_ you'd take his side!" Hermione said. "You two always stick together!"

"I'm taking no one's side," Harry protested. "I'm just. . ."

"Ginny, I'd like to lie down," Hermione said, turning her back on both Harry and Ron. "I'm feeling rather ill, all of a sudden."

Harry and Ginny looked at one another. It had been a few years since they'd been forced to mediate between these two, but Harry nodded when Ginny gave a slight jerk of her head and left the kitchen with Hermione.

No sooner had they reached the second floor landing when Hermione burst into tears again. "I'm so sorry to dump all this on you and Harry, but I just. . . I can't. . . Oh, Ginny!"

Ginny put her arms around Hermione. "Hermione, I'm the first to admit that my brother can be a prat, but I'm with Harry on this one. I just can't believe Ron would do something like that. Especially with Lavender!" She gave a little shudder.

"Why _not_ with Lavender?" Hermione sniffed. "She's never stopped chasing him. She acts all giggly and flirty around him, and she dresses like such a tart!"

"She _is_ a tart," Ginny said. "And she acts that way with anything in trousers. That doesn't mean Ron is remotely interested."

Hermione pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "So you think I'm being irrational?"

"All women are irrational about their husbands' ex-girlfriends," Ginny said soothingly. "The few times we've run into Cho, I've been. . . Well, all right, I've been rude, but I can't seem to stop myself. Harry thinks it's funny." She added under her breath, "Git!"

"Well, this isn't funny at all," said Hermione. "Ron is. . . he's stopped loving me, Ginny, I know it!"

"Hermione, that can't be true!"

"It _is_ true! He's been so different lately. I feel like I don't even know him any more. "

"What do you mean, different?"

"I don't know how to describe it. He's just not. . . _normal_!"

Ginny regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Normal for anyone or normal for Ron?"

Before Hermione could answer, the kitchen door banged open and Ron came pounding up the stairs. Harry followed, still carrying James, who was tired of being held and was squirming to be let down.

"Ron," Harry said, struggling with James who was attempting to rappel down his torso, "I wouldn't. . ."

Ron marched straight up to Hermione and shouted, "That's _it_, Hermione! I've had enough! I've practically disappeared up my own backside trying not to do or say anything to upset you, but I've reached the end of my rope. Do you hear me? I've bloody well reached it!"

"All of London can hear," Hermione said coldly. "I've already told you. . ."

"Shut up!" Ron snapped. "You're going to hear me out, damn it, if I have to tie you down and gag you!"

Hermione tried to back away, but Ron advanced, pinning her to the wall. "You already know that George and I have been trying to buy the shop next door for ages. What you don't know is that the owner of Number 94 is a cranky old bastard with a long-standing grudge against George because. . . Well, I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say it involved a Wildfire Whiz Bang and a couple of U-No-Poo's. He's rejected offer after offer from us, so I worked out an arrangement with Parvarti and Lavender in exchange for help in developing a business plan, which they sorely needed because they've been losing money hand over arse. . ."

"Arse!" James yelled gleefully, trying out the new word. "Arse, arse, arse!"

"_Ron!_" said Ginny, clapping her hands over her son's ears.

"Sorry," Ron said. "At any rate, they agreed to buy the place next door, using our money, with the understanding that they would turn right round and sign it over to us. We signed the last of the paperwork this morning. I was so glad to be done with it that – all right, I admit it - I hugged Lavender! If you'd arrived a few seconds earlier, you'd have seen me hugging Parvati, too. That's all there was to it, Hermione. If you don't believe me, you can ask George. Ask Parvati and Lavender. Hell, ask the arsehole from next door! It doesn't matter now we've bought the place."

Hermione looked slightly mollified, but not entirely ready to surrender. "Why didn't you tell me about all this right from the start?"

"Yes, why not?" asked Ginny, thinking this was a fair point.

Ron sighed. "Because I know how you are about honesty, scruples, and all that rot. I didn't think you would approve of our little scheme to acquire the new premises. Besides, whenever Lavender's name is mentioned, you turn all, I dunno, _weird_. And you've been so damned tetchy lately that I didn't dare."

Harry's eyes darted nervously between the two, but all Hermione said was, "What do you mean, 'tetchy'?'"

Ron wavered, but decided to go for broke. "Come on, Hermione! Between all the mood swings and hormonal shifts, you've been bloody well impossible! But everyone kept telling me that I had to be all patient and considerate because you're pregnant, so I just gritted my teeth and got on with it."

To everyone's surprise, Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "So that's why you. . . I thought you didn't care enough to fight with me any more."

"You thought . . ." Ron threw up his hands in despair. "Of _course_ I care, you stupid cow! Why else do you think I went running out in the middle of the night to satisfy your craving for curry and then listened to you complain about heartburn for the next three days? Why do you suppose I went along with keeping all the windows in our bedroom open in the middle of winter because you're too hot all the time? Why do you think I didn't say a word when you criticized every effing thing from my table manners, to the way I pronounce. . . What was that word you nagged me about last week? Hyperbole?"

"The way you _mis_pronounce it, you mean," Hermione said, sniffing. "It's 'hie-PER-buh-lee,' _not_ 'HIE-per-bowl!'"

"All I know is that it means blowing everything out of proportion, which is what _you've _been doing for months!"

Ginny and Harry held their breaths. Even James went quiet, but Hermione was oddly, almost eerily calm. "In that case," she said, "I have two words to say to you."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron's face and ears were bright red, but he held his ground.

"I'm sor. . ." All the color drained from Hermione's face. "Oh, my God!"

"That's more than two words," said Ron, confused.

"Hermione?" said Ginny. "Are you all right?"

"Oh!" Hermione gave a little gasp. A minute later they all stared at the floor where a puddle of liquid had collected at her feet.

"Bloody hell," muttered Ron, going white as a sheet.

Hermione blinked, startled. "I-I think my water has broken!"

"Looks that way," Ginny agreed.

"We have to do something!" Ron turned to Harry. "What should we do?"

"Getting her to St. Mungo's might be an idea," Harry said.

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "Let's do that!"

"I can't," Hermione said. "I can't go!"

"Hermione," said Ron, exasperated, "it wouldn't make a whole lot of sense for the rest of us to go if you didn't, would it?"

"We have to get Mum and Dad!" Hermione said. "It's their first grandchild. They have to be there!"

"Well, their first grandchild is about to be born in Harry and Ginny's foyer!" Ron shouted, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair.

"Calm down!" Harry ordered. "I'll get Hermione's parents, all right? I'll also notify the rest of the family, and as soon as we've got the boys ready, we'll meet you at St. Mungo's."

"All right," Hermione said shakily. "Oh, Ron, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have jumped on you , but you've been so distant lately. Well, not distant exactly so much as thoughtful, I suppose, and considerate. It just wasn't _like_ you!"

Ron stared at her. "Is that your idea of an apology?"

"Ron," Harry said, "don't push it, okay?"

As soon as Ron and Hermione had been bundled into a Muggle taxi, bound for St. Mungo's, Harry and Ginny looked at each other again. "They're _your_ friends," Ginny said pointedly.

"Hermione's your friend, too," said Harry. "And Ron's your brother!"

"Yes, well, I didn't have much choice about that, did I?" Ginny threw back over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs to the nursery.

* * *

Ginny Apparated to St. Mungo's with the boys before the rest of the family arrived and found a quiet room where she could nurse Albus while James played with a box of toys in the corner. Harry soon joined them there and sat beside Ginny while Albus had his lunch.

"I just dropped the Grangers off," he explained. "Saw Ron for a bit. He looked shaky, but otherwise seemed to be holding up surprisingly well."

"How about Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"I couldn't tell," said Harry. "I heard a lot of yelling, but didn't stay long enough to find out if it was her. Just like old times, though, isn't it? Ron and Hermione arguing, and you and I caught in the. . ."

He broke off at a tug on his trousers. "Daddy, up!" implored James, who had abandoned the toys and was holding his arms out. Harry pulled the little boy onto his lap. James burrowed into his father's chest and popped his thumb in his mouth.

"You're sleepy, love, aren't you?" said Ginny, reaching over to brush James's unruly hair off his forehead.

"He missed his nap," Harry said.

"Speaking of which," said Ginny, as James's eyes drooped and she switched sides with Albus. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh, that," Harry said. "Archie Hines has decided to retire."

"Has he?" said Ginny. "That's good, isn't it? You've been hoping he would."

"Yes," Harry said. "But, er. . . Kingsley has asked me to take over as head of the Auror Department."

Ginny's head shot up, causing Albus to whimper. "Have you accepted?"

"Not yet. I told Kingsley I wanted to talk it over with you first."

"Well, it's quite a promotion."

"It is that," Harry acknowledged. "It's also a huge responsibility. It would mean a lot of long hours."

"So no change there," Ginny said wryly. "What's the plus side?"

"No more field assignments. So no more long separations from you and the boys."

"A definite plus." Ginny waited for him to continue, but Harry didn't seem to be in any great hurry to get to the point.

"If I take this job," Harry said after a long pause, "I'd be the youngest ever head of the Auror Department."

"And that's a problem because. . . ?" Ginny prompted.

"Because there are at least a dozen Aurors who are older and more experienced," Harry said. "It's bound to cause resentment if I'm promoted ahead of them. I've only been an Auror for nine years, Ginny. I don't know if I've earned enough respect to. . .What are you laughing at?"

"You!" said Ginny. "Do you honestly not realize the esteem in which the entire wizarding world holds you? You're practically an icon!"

He gave her a grumpy look. "You know how I feel about that. I don't want to be seen as some sort of figurehead."

"Oh, for. . . Darling, has it never occurred to you that you might actually be qualified for this job? That Kingsley Shacklebolt, a man of intelligence and judgment, has already weighed all the pros and cons and come to the conclusion that you are the best possible choice? As Kingsley himself recently reminded me, you've had experiences no other Auror could begin to match. You don't have to earn anyone's respect, my love. You already have it."

Harry looked a little less grumpy. "I think you're biased."

"Possibly," Ginny agreed. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are a great man. I've known it for years. If you ask me, it's to Kingsley's credit that he recognizes it, too.

Harry looked vaguely gratified by her praise, though he tried to mask it. He glanced at James's sleeping face, then peered at Albus who was still nursing in a half-hearted way. "You think I should accept?"

"I'll support any decision you make," said Ginny. "Although I have to admit, the idea of you sitting in an office has more appeal than the thought of you skulking after Dark Wizards."

"I _never_ skulk," Harry corrected, though his lips were twitching.

"All right then," said Ginny. "Is part of your hesitation because you think you might miss the excitement of field work?"

Harry thought for a minute, then shook his head. "No."

"Are you sure?" Harry nodded. "Why?" Ginny persisted.

"Because," Harry said, brushing his lips over her brow, "I have all the excitement I need right here."

Ginny smiled. "I hope I'm equal to the challenge."

Harry smiled back. "Oh, I think you're more than equal to it."

* * *

Throughout the afternoon, Ron delivered periodic updates to his assembled family, each time looking paler and more disheveled than the time before. But there was a steely resolve about him, despite the torrents of abuse they could all hear down the length of two hallways and through several closed doors. Charlie, the only non-father among the Weasley men, looked especially alarmed and cast several nervous glances at Olga, who wore a shiny new ring on her left hand, which Molly had observed with a nauseatingly self-satisfied smile.

"Is that _normal_?" Charlie asked not long after Ron's fourth appearance during which he responded to queries about tiny cuts on his face with a single word: "Canaries!"

"For those two, yes," replied George. "Actually, I think they consider it foreplay."

"What I meant was," Charlie clarified, "is it normal for a woman in labor to be so. . . vicious?"

"Yes, indeed," Percy said. "Penelope is normally a very sweet girl, but when she's in labor . . ." He sighed deeply

"You should have heard Fleur when she had the twins," said Bill. "Of course most of what she shouted was in French so I didn't understand all of it. But I'm fairly certain that at one point she accused our parents of never being married."

"Put it this way, Charlie," George said. "Multiply an injured dragon by ten and you'll have a pretty good idea."

Charlie turned appealingly to Harry who added, "I married your sister. Need I say more?"

"What nonsense!" said Molly. "They're exaggerating, Charlie. You know your brothers. Tell him, Arthur!"

"It's, er, not _that_ bad," Arthur equivocated. "Not _really_."

"Speak for yourself," George muttered. "Katie threatened to sever my bollocks and wear them as earrings."

"It's not too late for that yet, mate!" Katie called across the room, which effectively put an end to all the war stories.

It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening when Ron appeared with a tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket and and a grin that split his face from ear to ear.

"Everyone," he said in a voice like the clashing of cymbals, "meet Rose!"

The women all flew out of their seats, clustering round the baby like so many hens with a newborn chick. The newest Weasley was squalling and red-faced with a riot of curls that matched her complexion. And she was absolutely beautiful.

The births of her grandchildren were among the few occasions when Molly was incapable of speech, being far too busy baptizing them with floods of tears. But Arthur spoke for everyone when he said, "She's perfect, Ron. Well done!"

"Congratulations!" said Harry, clapping his friend on the shoulder as Rose was passed from hand to hand. "How's Hermione?"

"Great!" Ron enthused. "They're settling her in now, but you can see her soon."

"How'd it go?" Bill asked.

"Fantastic!" said Ron with a semi-maniacal laugh. "Wonderful! Stupendous! Sensational!"

"Really?" Charlie said.

"It was _amazing_!" Ron insisted. "Well, Hermione is always amazing, but it was the most incredible_. . ._ Gah, can you believe it? I'm a dad!"

"I believe it," George grinned. "Welcome to the club, little bro'!"

Hermione looked as tired as if she'd just taken a dozen N.E.W.T.'s, and triumphant as though she had received an 'Outstanding' on every one. As the family trooped in to see her, Ron vibrated between her bed and the baby's cot like a slightly giddy pendulum, pointing out bits of his daughter to visitors as if she was a prize poodle.

"Look at those hands!" he said when everyone except Harry and Ginny had gone. "Long fingers like that, she'll be a terrific Keeper. Did I tell you she weighs almost nine pounds?"

"No kidding?" said Harry, who had already been informed of this five times.

"She's tall too. Twenty-one and a quarter inches!" Ron gave Harry a nudge in the ribs. "Hey, you get out what you put in, right?"

Harry laughed, and Ginny rolled her eyes. "If you can get over your delusions," Hermione said dryly, "why don't you pose the question we've been wanting to ask Harry and Ginny."

"Oh, yeah!" said Ron. "Will you be godparents?"

"We'd be honored," Harry said. "Wouldn't we, love?"

"Of course," said Ginny, smiling. "She really is beautiful, Hermione."

"She is, isn't she?" Hermione said, grimacing only slightly when Ron plucked Rose out of her cot yet again. He couldn't seem to leave her alone, and strolled with her to to his sister who cradled Albus while Harry attempted to extract James from under the bed.

"Rosie," Ron said, as if she understood every word, "this is your cousin Al. Say hello, why don't you?"

Seeing the babies side-by-side, Ginny was struck by how much bigger Rose was, even though Albus, theoretically at least, was nearly two months older. To her surprise, Albus flung an arm out of the blanket in which he'd been swaddled, almost as if he was reaching out for his cousin. It was a involuntary reflex, Ginny knew, but Rose opened her eyes and for a moment it felt like a recognition.

"Look at that!" said Ron. "It's like they already know each other, isn't it?"

Ginny felt an odd tingling and looked up to find Hermione looking back at her. Between them passed a strange understanding, more a feeling than anything, and Ginny knew that she would never have to explain anything to Hermione because what Hermione did not already know she was bound to discover. And Ginny was grateful, because Hermione was more than a sister-in-law and so much more than a friend. They were in it together, and they understood each other perfectly.

Ginny looked away, watching James bounce off the walls while Harry and Ron discussed the joys and perils of fatherhood. She thought of an old Muggle map that Ron and Hermione had given Arthur for his last birthday which dated back to a time when many people believed the world was flat. Hermione had explained that when the old mapmakers reached what they thought was the edge of the earth, they would write, "Beyond this place, there be dragons!" Ginny felt like one of those old mapmakers now, facing a vast unknown. The world was full of monsters, imaginary and real, and they would swallow her children if they could. Ginny gazed at the tiny, green-eyed mite who was already so much a part of her, and at James, lively and impetuous, both of whom carried that powerful combination of Weasley and Potter genes. They had that to defend them, and Ginny would fight her own demons, because fear was the enemy of hope and hope was the best defense they had.

A time of change was coming, but change was the only constant, and the only way to survive was to bend to the prevailing winds. The wind went where it pleased, as children always will, for they are loaned to their parents only a little while. These young souls would travel many long and winding roads before they came to the end of their journey, and if calamity occurred, as it inevitably would, they would deal with it as Potters and Weasleys always had. They would face it together and together they would meet their destiny.

Perhaps, Ginny thought as Hermione's eyes found hers once more, that was why the earth had been made round. Because no one could see what was over the horizon.

* * *

_**A/N: **_There is an Epilogue to come, but I have to warn you that all of your questions are unlikely to be answered. The reason for this is that I am leaving the door open for a possible sequel. PLEASE don't start jumping up and down just yet, as it's likely to be awhile before I can get to it (and no, I have no idea when that might be), but I have pretty well made up my mind that Albus's story needs to be told. In the meantime, there is the Epilogue, which hopefully won't take quite as long as the last few chapters. I have learned not to make predictions or promises with this story, but as always I will do my best to get it posted soon. I am awed and overwhelmed by your reviews. Thank you all so very much!

* * *

**Notes to Anonymous Reviewers:** Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewersfor your thoughtful comments: **infinity, Tejana, Mrs.H, Sherry Anderson, hpgw4ever, clio, Christina, adam, Laurelyn, THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT, noviwanwife, **and** Raging Tomato. **Specific responses are included below.

**infinity: **I have ideas for a sequel, but they haven't quite jelled yet. Once they come together, as they inevitably do, I'll start writing them down.

**Tejana:** Yes, Albus is getting better.

**Sherry Anderson:** It's an amazing compliment that my stories make you feel as if you're part of them. That's what every writer strives for, so I thank you. And no, I won't ever stop writing.

**Hpgw4ever:** I will keep going, thanks!

**Clio:** It is difficult to express this type of emotion, but it's actually easier to write grief than humor. At least it is for me.

**Christina:** I'm glad you thought the last chapter worked. As for a sequel, my brain said no, but my heart kept saying yes, and the heart tends to win these arguments. Hopefully they'll work it out between them fairly soon so I can start writing.

**adam:** Very good point about the Prewett temper. Arthur does seem the calm, collected one in the family, so it's probably not the Weasley genes at all.

**THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT:** I have ideas for a sequel, but I'm taking a break to focus on a couple of other writing projects (non-Harry Potter, that is) that have been pestering me for awhile. I do plan to return to this world eventually, however, so stay tuned.

**Laurelyn:** Thanks so much for your kind words. They're deeply appreciated.

**Raging Tomato: **I'm glad you didn't hold off till the end.As for the sequel, I do need a bit of a breather, but as soon as the bug bites me again I'll be off. Keep watching this space.


	27. Chapter 27: Seven Years Later

_**A/N:**__ Finally! In the spirit of going on as I began, this chapter gave me fits. I had a dreadful time deciding how to end this story. I really wasn't sure how much to reveal, because I haven't completely decided when or if to write a sequel, but I did want to leave a little bit of mystery, just in case my Muse cooperates enough to let me write Albus's story. Anyway, here is the final chapter of 'Great Expectations.' Thanks so much for your patience and your very kind sentiments._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_Seven Years Later_

The hired car bumped along a narrow road beside a quiet lake reflecting the softness of a clear, blue sky. It had been cloudy earlier in the day, but by midmorning all traces of fog had disappeared and the threat of rain had also vanished. Purple heather climbed the hillsides and rocky streams twisted their way through clumps of trees and pastures of verdant green where sheep grazed contentedly in cloud-like clusters amid picturesque stone cottages flanked by sycamores and Scotch fir. Only the sound of geese honking overhead shattered the blue and gold silence until the car screeched to a halt and Harry demanded tersely, "Where in the name of Merlin's saggy left. . ."

"Harry!" Ginny warned, as all five children stopped tormenting one another to listen.

"Does anyone have a clue where the blasted road is?" Harry said. "Check the map again, will you, Ron?"

"It shouldn't be much farther," Ron said, poring over the map he had unfurled on the dashboard. "Unless we made a wrong turn at that last fork. . ."

"Well done, Magellan," said Ginny, whose confidence in her brother's navigational skills was wearing thin. "I've always wanted to circumnavigate the globe."

"You're hilarious," Ron said without a trace of humor. "I'm amazed you don't write jokes for the _Prophet _instead of your Quidditch column."

"The road we want runs parallel to the lake, doesn't it?" said Ginny. "There, as you can plainly see, is the lake. Why is this so difficult?"

"No idea," sighed Ron. "Stupid Muggle map!"

"Why don't we stop somewhere and ask for directions?" Hermione proposed.

Ron and Harry both looked at her as if she had just asked them to jump, fully clothed, into a shark-infested moat.

"We're surrounded by fells and sheep pastures, in case you hadn't noticed," Harry said. "Maybe that ewe over there knows the way."

"Look," said Ron, "let's just keep going. Sooner or later we're bound to end up somewhere, aren't we?"

Everyone stared. "What?" they all said at once.

"Why not just enjoy the journey?" Ron said. "Come on, Harry, drive!"

No one seemed to have any better ideas, so Harry eased back onto the road, but the silence was once more shattered by a shriek from Lily who held up a reddened finger and declared, "Hugo bit me!"

Hermione twisted around to glare at her son. "What have I told you about biting people?"

"Not to," said Hugo, his brown eyes puddling with tears. "But she pinched me!"

"Lily!" Ginny scolded.

"He started it!" Lily said indignantly, flipping her braids over her shoulder for emphasis. "He called me a. . . Mummy, what's a bint?"

"Hugo Septimus Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed. "Where did you hear a word like that?"

"Daddy," Hugo replied in a small voice. "It was what he called that lady at Madam Malkan's who made him wait so long for his new dress robes."

Hermione looked pointedly at Ron, who slumped low in his seat, pretending to concentrate on the map. "You shouldn't use words if you don't know what they mean, Hugo," Rose said in a bossy voice.

"It's not very nice," Hermione informed her son, "and I don't want to hear you saying such things, young man. You either, Rose! As for your father," she added as Ron slumped even lower, "I'll be having a word with _him_ later."

Just for something to do, James twisted Al's arm around his arm around his back and announced, "I'm hungry!"

"Release your brother," Ginny ordered. "How can you be hungry? You had such a big breakfast!"

"Mum, that was _ages_ ago," said James, rolling his eyes. "I'm starving!"

"You're a pig," Albus muttered mutinously, rubbing his arm.

"You're a wanker," James replied. "Ow! Mum!"

Being trapped in an automobile with five children under the age of nine was not what anyone would have called a relaxing holiday, but they were there, ostensibly, to celebrate Lily's fifth birthday. As a special treat, her parents had offered to take her to Hilltop Cottage, the home of the late Beatrix Potter ("No relation," Harry informed his daughter with a smile) whose stories she adored, and they invited Ron, Hermione, and their brood to come along. That was their first mistake. The second was acquiescing to Ron's suggestion that they hire a car on the last day of their trip and see something of the countryside by driving to Rose Cottage.

It had seemed an excellent idea at the time. It was a beautiful, warm July day and the scenery was spectacular, but they had forgotten that children sequestered in a confined space, even with an expansion spell on the car, will eventually declare war on one another. They were due at the Burrow that evening for a proper family birthday tea, but at the rate things were going Ginny thought they might be there in time for Bonfire Night. The kids weren't exactly helping either. As they passed a farmhouse that Ginny could have sworn they'd already passed three times, James let out a shout that nearly caused Harry to drive off the road.

"Hey!" Al yelled, as James shoved a hand into his pocket. "Give it back!"

"It's mine!" James said, holding up a trick wand that immediately turned into a rubber chicken. "It's the one Uncle George gave me! What's it doing in your pocket, you little sneak?"

Albus blinked. "I. . . I don't know."

"A likely story," James scoffed. "Try another one!"

Albus looked dumbfounded. "I must. . . It must have. . ." He turned appealingly to his mother. "I didn't take it, Mum, I swear. I don't know how it got in my pocket!"

Ginny regarded Albus with a sober expression. She had never known him to lie. "All right," she said quietly. "I believe you."

"What?" said James, incensed. "You mean he's not even going to be _punished_?"

"That'll do, James," Harry said in a stern voice.

James folded his arms, his blue eyes snapping with anger. "You _always_ take his side. Even when he's caught bloody red-handed. . ."

"Mind your language!" said Ginny, then added in a softer tone, "He didn't mean to, James. Just let it go, all right?"

James subsided, muttering under his breath, and Ginny exchanged a look with Harry. It wasn't the first time Albus had displayed involuntary magic, which was common enough in young wizards, but Al had been manifesting these signs since infancy. Even when he was a baby, toys that had been placed on shelves the night before had a way of turning up in his cot the next morning, wilting flowers suddenly bloomed in his presence, and animals seemed strangely drawn to him. The spring after his birth, an unusual number of butterflies fluttered down to perch on the hood of his pram, and birds responded to his cries as if to a clarion call. As soon as he began to crawl and toddle about, Ginny noticed squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks, even hedgehogs regarding her son with curious listening attitudes, as if he communicated with them in a way no one else could understand.

Most curious of all was the day James came running into the house in a high state of excitement to announce that his then three-year-old brother was talking to a snake. Harry and Ginny both dashed out into the back garden to find Albus crouched in the grass near the broom shed, assuring a small, green snake that he wouldn't let anyone harm it.

"He was speaking _English_," Ginny reminded Harry later. "He's not a Parselmouth, Harry. Did you hear any hissing?"

"No," said Harry, but he looked troubled anyway.

"He's sensitive," Ginny said. "That's all it is. A lot of children are sensitive to animals."

Harry gave her a sharp look. "You're sure about that?"

Ginny did not answer, because she had never been sure of anything when it came to Albus. Even James, who attracted trouble the way a magnet attracts iron filings, caused her less worry. She had not forgotten the dreams. Remus and Tonks. Fred. Dumbledore. Sirius. Lily and James. Five dreams. Seven dream visitors. Three great tests of worthiness before the journey began. The first test Ginny assumed he had already passed, having survived his turbulent entry into the world, but the other two were yet to come. An old enemy must be turned away from a Dark Power, and the third. . . Had any of them ever told her what the third test would involve, or was it a mystery he must unravel on his own?

Not that her other children were necessarily easier to cope with. James, in particular, kept Ginny's blood at a constant boil, and Lily could be stubborn, though she was such an endearing little thing that no one could resist her. After the trauma of Albus's birth, it had surprised everyone when Harry and Ginny made a deliberate decision to have another child. Whether it was the triumph of hope over experience or sheer reckless abandon, it turned out to be the easiest pregnancy Ginny had known, and Harry lost his heart the moment he first laid eyes on Lily, a warm, wriggling bundle of dimpled charm who wrapped her father around her little finger and refused to let go. Of course she was very spoilt and got away with much more than she should, but she was merely following in her mother's footsteps, an observation that more than once had earned Ron a smack on the back of the head from his sister.

"Well, here we are," Harry said as they pulled up to the same fork they had turned onto half an hour earlier. "Right back where we started. Now what?"

"We should get the children fed and watered before we do anything else," said Hermione. "If there's time, we can carry on searching for the cottage after lunch."

"Good idea," said Ron. "I'm a bit peckish myself."

"_There's_ a shock," said Ginny. "We're near the village, aren't we? Why not go to The Rose? It would be nice to see the Sinclairs again."

"If they're still there," Harry said. "That was eight years ago, after all."

"I don't see why they wouldn't still be there," said Hermione. "The business had been in their family for generations, they told us. Let's try it, shall we?"

After all the trouble they'd had finding, or rather not finding, Rose Cottage, they found the restaurant with surprising ease. It seemed only minutes before they were pulling up before a stone building with mullioned windows and a wooden sign above the door that displayed a fully-blown, brilliantly red rose.

They were shown past a row of heavy oak tables draped with fine Irish linen and seated near an enormous fireplace whose cheerful flames flickered in greeting. Pewter sconces cast tiny pinpoints of light on the walls as a buxom looking witch in a long skirt and fluffy white blouse came to take their orders.

"Are the Sinclairs in today?" Hermione asked, after everyone had selected something from the menu. "We'd love to say hello, if they are."

The waitress paused, quill still poised above her pad. "Sorry, who?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair," Ginny clarified. "The owners."

The waitress blinked. "Owners of what?"

"This establishment," Ron said, unable to keep the impatience from his voice. Ginny could not blame him. Was the woman an imbecile? "Don't you even know who you work for?"

The buxom witch stared at him. "If. . . if you'll excuse me," she stammered. "I'll, er, just get the manager."

The adults all exchanged wondering looks as she bustled off. They didn't have a chance to wonder long, for they were soon joined by a heavyset wizard who inquired haughtily, "Is there a problem?"

"Not really," Harry said. "We were just looking for. . .

But the heavyset wizard had seen Harry's scar and his eyes widened in recognition. "Mr. Potter! Oh, my, what a privilege! Giles Bosson, sir, at your service. Welcome to The Rose!"

Harry's mouth twisted and a faint line appeared between his brows, but his voice was polite when he said, "Er, thank you. Would it be possible to speak with the Sinclairs?"

Bosson blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"There's no problem," Harry assured him. "We have no complaint. It's just that we met Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair when we were last here and hoped to meet them again, if they're about."

Bosson stared, a bit stupidly, Ginny thought. "I don't understand."

"They own this place, do they not?" Harry repeated, sounding impatient himself now. "We met them when we here eight years ago."

Bosson had gone pale. "You're certain it was _eight_ years ago, sir?"

"Positive," said Harry. "It was the summer of 2005."

"I'm sorry, sir," Bosson said. "But I'm afraid that's quite impossible. The Rose wasn't rebuilt until 2007. This is 2013, so. . ."

"We know what year it is!" Ron nearly shouted. "What do you mean it was 'rebuilt?'"

"It was destroyed by followers of He Who Must Not Be Named during the Second Wizarding War," Bosson explained. "Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair were indeed the original owners, but they were forced to flee to the Continent when they ran afoul of the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, they did not long survive their exile and their daughter, Cynthia, was so grief-stricken that she couldn't bring herself to rebuild until nine years after her parents' deaths. So you see, if you were here in 2005, you would have found nothing but a pile of rubble."

The waitress reappeared, balancing a tray of drinks on the end of her wand. Everyone waited until she had directed each glass to the correct place before turning back to Bosson who had remained, albeit regarding them a bit warily.

"It looks the same," Ginny said in a faint echo of her normal voice.

"Ah!" said Bosson. "Well, as I said, the property passed to the Sinclairs' daughter, who currently makes her home in Lille. Madame Rousseau, as she has been known since her marriage, hired me to oversee the reconstruction and later persuaded me to stay on as Manager. She wanted The Rose to be restored as nearly as possible to the way it was in her parents' lifetime, not only to honor their memory, but also because this place had for so long been an important local landmark. It meant a lot to the villagers to see it returned to its former glory. But Madame Rousseau has not been here since the restoration was complete. It's still hard for her, I think, but she trusts me to manage The Rose on her behalf. We communicate mainly by owl post."

The Potter and Weasley adults looked at one another, then almost as one they looked down the table at the children who had stopped listening to the boring adult conversation. They'd heard such tales of death and destruction all their lives and had learned to tune it out, perhaps as a defensive mechanism. Rose and Albus were having a sword fight with a pair of bread sticks. Lily was blowing bubbles through a straw into a glass of pumpkin juice. James was lobbing sugar packets at Hugo who had ducked behind a menu to protect himself, though he managed to lob a few back. They were so innocent, Ginny thought, five normal, healthy, happy children who had no idea what had been sacrificed so they could exist.

Bosson excused himself to see to other guests and the four stared at one another. "It looks the same," Ginny said again. "_Exactly_ the same."

"Well, it's like he said," Ron replied in an unnaturally subdued voice. "They wanted it to look like the original."

"That doesn't explain how we saw it two years _before_ it was restored," Harry said. "How is it possible? Even with magic, how is something like that possible?"

He looked again at Rose and Albus, and Ginny's gaze followed his. Could it have been a collective hallucination? Yet there sat Albus and Rose, whose very existence was proof that it had been more than a dream.

"Perhaps. . ." Hermione began, rubbing her brow distractedly. "No. No, it couldn't be."

"What, Hermione?" Ginny urged.

"It's nothing," Hermione said. "Well, probably nothing. Although it would explain why we couldn't find Rose Cottage. . ."

"Well, I'm glad you cleared that up," said Ron when she broke off again. "It would have been terribly awkward if you'd just left us hanging."

"Oh, be quiet, Ron." Her frown deepened. "Even if I'm right, it's only part of the answer."

"If you understand even part of it, Hermione, that's more than the rest of us do," Harry said. "So why don't you spare us the trouble of prying it out of you and tell us what's on your mind."

Hermione sighed and lowered her voice so the children wouldn't hear, not that any of them were paying attention. "Have you ever heard of the Novortus Charm?"

"No," said Ginny, and Harry and Ron shook their heads.

"It comes from the Latin words 'novo' meaning to revive, and 'ortus' meaning birth or rising,'" Hermione said. "The most accurate translation would probably be 'rebirth.' It's ancient magic, and very complex. It's a bit like. . . Did you ever see _Brigadoon_?"

Ron's eyes widened. "What?"

"It's an old Muggle musical film," Harry said. "I saw it on television years ago when the Dursleys were out one night. The only thing I remember is that it was a bit silly, all that singing and dancing and prancing through the heather."

"It's about a mythical Scottish village that only appears out of the mist for a single day every hundred years," Hermione explained. "I doubt there really is such a place, but there have been others like it. We learned about them in _History of Magic_."

"Hermione," Ron sighed, "you know Harry and I never. . ."

"Avalon?" said Ginny, who had managed to stay awake in Binns' class at least part of the time.

"Exactly," Hermione said, nodding her approval.

"Wait, Hermione," Harry said. "Are you trying to tell us there really _was_ an Avalon? And the whole Camelot legend, the Knights of the Round Table, King Arthur, Excalibur. . . All that really happened?"

Hermione smiled. "It probably didn't happen the way you learned about it in primary school, Harry, but most Muggle legends are based on magical reality. If you'd ever paid attention in _History of_ _Magic_, you'd know that."

"I've heard of Avalon, of course," said Ron, "but don't remember much except that it had something to do with Morgan le Fey."

"It was an enchanted island," Hermione said, "dedicated to the goddess and presided over by priestesses, one of whom was Morgan le Fey. According to the legend it disappeared into the mist, but it's supposed to reappear when all the signs are right."

"What signs?" asked Ginny at the same time Ron demanded, "What does any of this have to do with The Rose?"

"The ancient sign of the goddess was a rose," Hermione said, apparently deciding to answer both questions at once. "It was a symbol worn only by the High Priestess, and it's one of the signs that magical historians believe will herald the reappearance of Avalon, when Merlin himself will guide a reborn Arthur into a new Age of Camelot."

Ginny felt a chill, though the day was quite warm and they were sitting very near the fire. She shivered and Harry turned to look at her. "Are you cold, love?"

"No, I. . . I'm fine." She looked at Hermione. "It's not there anymore, is it? Rose Cottage, I mean. It was only there that weekend. For us."

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, Ginny. I just don't know."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron, but Harry's eyes narrowed in sudden, dawning comprehension.

"The Novortus Charm," he whispered, then turned abruptly to Ron. "Are you still in touch with the supplier who arranged our visit here eight years ago?"

Ron blinked. "I. . . Well, I just assumed he must have moved on. Nice bloke. Funny, I haven't thought of him in awhile."

"When was the last time you spoke to him?" Ginny asked.

Ron's eyes darted between Harry and his sister. "Around eight years ago, I guess."

"Before we were last here?" said Harry.

"Yes, but. . ." Ron said, a bit defensively. "People move on, don't they? It happens all the time. There's nothing sinister about it."

"I didn't say it was sinister." Harry stared at the tablecloth, tracing a rose-leaf pattern with his thumbnail. "Why, though? Why us?"

"Why not us?" Hermione replied. "After everything we've been through, all we've overcome, perhaps we were the most qualified to take on such a challenge."

Ron still looked puzzled, but when he glanced at his daughter there was a shine of tears in his eyes. Rose was tucking into her shepherd's pie and chattering away to Albus to whom she always had a lot to say. The two had bonded in their cradles and were absurdly close, though it was probably the oddest mismatch in history. Rose was brilliant, bossy, and opinionated, whereas Al's dearest wish was to fade quietly into the woodwork. He was the most unlikely leader imaginable, but Ginny supposed the same could have been said of Harry once, and look what he had become. Oh, my darling, she thought. My little boy!

Something hovered in midair and it rendered everyone temporarily speechless. "I'll do some research," Hermione said at last. "I'm sure to find something in the Ministry library."

Ron, Harry, and Ginny nodded. That was what Hermione did. She went to the library. If there were answers to be found she would find them. But no one said anything more about Rose Cottage. As if by unspoken agreement, they all seemed to realize there wouldn't be any point.

Rose Cottage no longer existed. If indeed it ever existed at all.

* * *

The family had gathered at the Burrow by the time the Potters and Ron and Hermione arrived. Only Charlie and Olga were missing, but Olga had just delivered her second set of twins, Molly and Magda, and was still recovering from the birth. Their first set, Arthur and Adam, were already two years old, and everyone was looking forward to seeing the new babies when Charlie brought his family to England for their annual visit in August. George and Katie were there, along with Fred, now nine, Gideon, who would be seven in September, and Fabian, who was just sixteen months younger. Bill and Fleur were there as well with Romy and Remy, also nine, and Victoire, thirteen, who had startled the family two years ago by being sorted into Ravenclaw, the first Weasley in generations not to be in Gryffindor. Percy's oldest son, Prewett, was the only Gryffindor to date of the current generation, a fact which Percy could not seem to resist commenting on at every family gathering.

Not that House distinctions were all that important anymore. Ever since the war a greater spirit of cooperation and camaraderie existed between the Houses, and there was no better example of this new harmony than Teddy Lupin. Teddy was a Hufflepuff like his mother and grandfather, but he had friends in all the Houses, even Slytherin, though if anyone could have made friends with Slytherins it was Ted. Handsome and hard-working, everyone's best mate and all-around good bloke, Teddy was easily the most popular boy at Hogwarts, and Ginny could not help smiling at the way Victoire's eyes followed him around the house, garden, and paddock. The girl's crush on her old playmate was blatantly apparent, though Teddy, oblivious in the way of most fifteen year old boys, still treated her like a kid sister, which drove her to near despair. Ginny vowed to have a quiet word with her niece very soon. Love was a madness that followed many wayward paths, but as Ginny knew, it never hurt to have a road map.

Victoire stopped mooning over Teddy long enough to sing 'Happy Birthday' to her cousin when Molly brought out an amazing cake decorated with spun sugar lilies and topped with an animated doll that sang along, only slightly off key. Lily comported herself with dignity. She took no prisoners, ordered no executions, but blew out the candles in a single breath and cut the cake herself with just a little help from her grandmother.

Harry smiled when Lily insisted that he take the first slice. "Thanks, pumpkin. May I have a kiss to go with it?"

"I'm _not_ a pumpkin," Lily objected, though she complied with his request.

"Your hair's the same color," said Harry, tugging at one of her braids.

"Silly Daddy!" Lily giggled, and kissed him again before sauntering away to help her grandmother distribute more cake.

"Why the long face?" Ginny asked, taking a seat beside her husband at the table in the Burrow's back garden. "It's your daughter's birthday!"

"She's five," he said, jabbing a fork at the crumbs on his plate and swirling them around with a disconsolate air. "And next year she'll be six."

"Well done!" said Ginny, taking a bite of cake. "Soon we'll be able to start you on multiplication tables."

Harry didn't laugh. "Where did the time go, Gin? Wasn't it only yesterday she was a little pink bundle I could practically hold in one hand?"

"It does go by in a blink," Ginny agreed. "It really doesn't seem all that long ago that James and Al were babies. Have you seen Al, by the way? He disappeared just after Mum brought the cake out and I haven't seen him since."

"He's probably off with Rose somewhere. You know how they are."

Ginny nodded. She knew. "I worry about them," Harry said. "All of them, really, but Al in particular."

"I know," said Ginny. "So do I."

They had talked about it so many times that there couldn't be anything left to say, but it hung over them like a pall, especially after what had happened earlier that day. Most of the time they simply lived with the knowledge, because Harry, of all people, knew the futility of kicking against something that may or may not be inevitable. But Ginny knew it was why he put in such ridiculously long hours as Head of the Auror Department. Whatever challenges Albus might have to face in the future, Harry was determined to ensure that there would be few left over from the past.

"I don't know if I can go through it again, Ginny," Harry said. "Especially not with one of our kids. It'll be so much harder to watch him. . ."

"He's not you, Harry," Ginny said. "He's a different person and he'll have a different set of challenges, but we can help him develop his strengths and we'll be there to support him every step of the way."

Harry nodded, but his eyes were distant, as if he saw into the past and future and didn't approve of either one. "I just wish I could keep him safe. I wish I could keep them all safe. That's why it pains me to see them growing up, because I know I can't protect them much longer. They'll go out into the world and when they do. . .Well, I wish I could keep them safe."

"It goes with the territory, love," said Ginny. "It's the hardest part of parenting, standing back far enough to let them spread their wings. But we'll always be on hand, ready to catch them if they fall."

"What if we can't catch them?" Harry said. "What if they never even learn to fly? What if one of them breaks a wing and is eaten by cats or something?"

Ginny laughed at the lengths to which he had carried the metaphor. "Shall we go over all the horrid possibilities?"

"Oh, let me worry a little," Harry sighed. "I'll feel better if I do."

Ginny smiled. She had never heard a truth more aptly expressed. "Even if we keep them locked in padded cells the rest of their lives, you'd still find reasons to worry. You worry about everyone all the time, Harry. You always do."

Harry's mouth twisted. "You know me too well, woman."

"Not nearly well enough sometimes," Ginny said. "You worry about everyone else and I worry about you."

"Well, maybe we should go for a fly to clear both our heads. Are you up for a game of Quidditch?"

"Aren't I always?"

Harry grinned. "Silly question. Okay, let's round up the kids. But I get Fred and James this time."

"In that case, I get the twins."

"Then I get Ron and George."

"Only if I get Bill and Teddy. You can have Katie and Gideon, and I'll take Al and Rose if I can find them. You don't think the four P's will want to play, do you?"

"I hope not," Harry said. "I don't much fancy patching them up again. Meet you at the paddock in fifteen?"

"Done," Ginny said.

To Ginny's surprise, Albus was not with Rose, whom she found playing wizard's chess with Priscilla while Prescott and Prudence waited their turns to be soundly thrashed. Rose was amenable to Quidditch, however, and left her cousins to their own devices while Ginny went in search of Al. She finally located him near the frog pond where he and Teddy appeared to be engrossed in deep conversation. They looked up when Ginny approached and both were delighted to hear she'd tagged them for her team.

"We'll beat Dad for sure!" Albus enthused, punching the air. "You always win, Mum. Can I be Seeker?"

"Of course," said Ginny, and Al dashed off to collect his new racing broom.

Teddy waited until Al was out of earshot before saying, "He's such a funny kid."

"Funny?" said Ginny. "In what way?"

"A good way," Teddy insisted. "It's just. . . Well, he's always having those odd dreams, isn't he?"

Ginny smiled. "He's had a few. Why? Did he have one about you?"

"About my parents, actually," said Teddy. "He was just telling me they're both really proud of me for being made a Prefect. Weird, huh?"

It took Ginny a minute to respond because her throat suddenly felt tight. "I think he's right, Teddy. I think they are proud of you. I know I am."

Teddy peered at her from the corners of his eyes. "Yeah, well, it's like I said, he's a funny kid."

He went off to select a broom, leaving Ginny alone in the gathering twilight, thinking of something someone once said to her, though she no longer remembered just who had said it or even in what context. The sentiment was clear, though: some things weren't meant to be understood. They were only meant to be felt and the strength of the feeling was proof of how true it was. What happened at Rose Cottage was a mystery, but so was life itself and so was the love that created it. And if proof was in the results, then her feelings told her that what happened all those years ago was good and very, very right.

She thought about the summer after Albus was born when a sapling had appeared in the back garden at Grimmauld Place, in the very spot where all the children loved to play. The roots, having apparently lain dormant for years, sent forth a healthy shoot that summer and now a young tree stood in place of the one that had been destroyed by lightning. It was a sign, Ginny realized now, a sign that in the end all would be well. She wasn't sure how she knew this, but what Ron said that morning was actually a profound truth. If you kept going, sooner or later you'd end up somewhere, and perhaps the destination wasn't all that important. It was the journey that mattered, and Ginny knew that she wouldn't have changed a thing about her own. Not the joy or the heartache, not the laughter or even the loss. It was all part of who she was and how she'd gotten there. It was part of who they all were, and the never-to-be-forgotten dead who had not gone, but were merely invisible for awhile.

Death was part of the journey, for it was only a passage into another life in which they would all be reunited one day. They would always be missed, those who had fallen: Remus and Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore, Sirius, and Lily and James whose legacy lived in the form of their son. Now that son had children of his own, and the future belonged to them. Perhaps some of it was fated, but the rest was in their hands, hands too small as yet to bear the weight of great expectations, but someday they would be equal to it. Ginny and Harry, and all the others would see to that. These saplings would grow in good soil, and only when they were strong enough to stand alone would they begin their own journey.

Harry came up beside Ginny, holding out a broom and grinning down at her in challenge. But there was a look in those astonishing emerald eyes that thrilled her, a look that made her heart flutter like a lovesick schoolgirl, and she knew that it would be there as long as either of them lived.

"Ready?" he asked.

"For anything," Ginny replied, and together they kicked off and zoomed into the night sky.

**THE END**

* * *

_**A/N: **_As promised, below are the sevens that I deliberately wove into the story. Some of these clues helped readers guess what was coming. As I did with _The Letter_, I'm also including the meaning behind the names of my original characters (OC's). Thank you all so very much for the amazing reviews, as well as all the support and encouragement you've provided throughout this incredibly long, difficult odyssey. I will keep writing, I promise. Take care!

* * *

**Note to Anonymous Reviewers:** Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewersfor brightening my world with your thoughtful comments: **Leira**, **infinity,** **Celestina**, **Amy**, **Chicken Child**, **Noviwanwife,** **Clio**, **Raging Tomato, Dana**, **Mrs.H, Christina, Willa, Naomi,** **THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHA**T, **Jessica**, **bibay**, **amy**, and **jnnmbby**.

* * *

**The Sevens**

Ginny is a seventh child

Harry was born in the seventh month (July)

Story begins seven years after the end of the war

James is seven months old when Harry & Ginny go to Rose Cottage

Albus and Rose were conceived in the seventh month (July)

Teddy Lupin is seven years old at the start of the story

Lucius Malfoy has a seven-year prison sentence

Albus is born after seven months gestation

Albus was born on the 25th of the month (2 plus 5 equals 7 – okay, this one's a stretch!)

Albus was in the NICU for seven weeks

Septimus (Hugo's middle name, also Ron's paternal grandfather) means seventh

Seven ghostly visitors

There were seven words on the magic parchment that allowed Harry and Ginny to communicate while he was in the Balkans

Final chapter (epilogue) takes place when Albus and Rose are seven years old

_I may have missed a few. If anyone finds additional sevens in the story, let me know._

* * *

**OC Name Meanings**

**Abeona:** Roman goddess, believed to watch over children and ease the fears of parents as they took their first steps.

**Lucretia Avenir:** Avenir is a French word that means future. Madame Avenir, as you may recall, is a Seeress.

**Giles Bosson:** Bosson comes from the French "garcon," someone who serves food and drink. The name Giles derives from the Scots word "gillie," an attendant or servant.

**Austerus Blunt:** Play on words. Combine "austere" and "blunt."

**Pavel Dragovic:** Dragovic is a Serbian and Croatian surname which means either "of the dragon" or comes from the personal name Drago, which means "beloved." I found both meanings, but not sure which is correct, so take your pick.

**Raphael Galen:** Raphael comes from an ancient Hebrew name meaning "God has healed." Claudius Galenus, also known as Galen, was a Greek physician whose theories dominated Western medicine for over a thousand years.

**Ilythia Giatros:** Giatros, as previously stated, is a Greek word that means physician. Ilithyia (also spelled Eileithyia) was the Greek goddess of childbirth and labor.

**Archibald Hines**: the surname Hines comes from the English word "hind" and is generally thought to mean someone who is timid as a hind (female red deer).

**Ivan Horvath**: Horvath is a Slovenian nickname for someone from Croatia.

**Niko Kovac:** Kovac is a common Slavic surname in Croatia, Serbia, and the Czech Republic. It means blacksmith, or someone who works with metal.

**Nicolai Petroff:** Petroff is a Bulgarian surname. Comes from the name Peter which means "The Rock."

**Cynthia Rousseau:** Rousseau is a French name that means red-haired. Cynthia is another name for Artemis, the Moon goddess.

**Monte and Sophie Sinclair: **Readers of _The DaVinci Code_ will recognize Sinclair as an English variation of the French name St. Clare which, according to some sources, is one of the families descended from the "royal" bloodline of the Rose.


End file.
